


Don't Look Back

by illyrianrhys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M, Get ready I brotp Feyre with basically everyone, It gets smutty, Lucien is a sad pupper throughout the whole thing tbh, M/M, Rhys pines a LOT, Rhys' parents and sister are alive because im not evil, Tamlin is a proper tool in this one, This is the ACOTAR high school AU no one asked for, no ragrats, v v smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11894640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrianrhys/pseuds/illyrianrhys
Summary: Summary: It’s senior year and everyone is fighting battles they do not want to face. Toxic relationships, conservative parents and alcohol are a bad mix. Quite frankly a recipe for disaster.





	1. Absolutely Dandy

**Author's Note:**

> Will be trying to do regular updates.  
> Aiming for this to be around 20 chapters... I don't sleep a lot.  
> Enjoy!!!

“Lucien, he can’t start dictating our lives,” sighed Feyre, picking at her half eaten sandwich from the crappy canteen. “We need to do something, even if it means tying him to a chair and making him listen to us.”

This very particular corner of the library was well hidden and mostly unused, which was to the advantage of Feyre and Lucien’s current predicament. For about two weeks now, instead of eating on the field watching football training, him and his best friend would resort to hiding in the back of a library during lunch hours. Though seemingly extreme measures, they agreed that it was to get some space from the rest of the school, but they both knew it was to avoid one person.

“I’m just worried about him, ever since his mum died, he’s been…different,” Lucien took a bite from his apple, the noise sounding louder than it was in the quietness of the library.  
Feyre leaned over the table they were eating lunch on, more wisps of hair falling out of her messy bun. “He has started looking through my phone, checking my messages, my pictures. It’s like he’s expecting me to cheat on him.”

“What!?” Feyre nodded in confirmation. This was getting worse than Lucien thought. His childhood best friend was making it increasingly more difficult for Feyre and himself in supporting him. It was growing difficult in even being around him, when he was constantly snapping at them, telling them what to do and what not to do. They only had each other to voice their concerns, which did not help the rumours nor said persons paranoia.

Feyre slumped back in her chair, “Well we can’t keep hiding from him in this damn library. We have to confront him- somehow.”

Lucien nodded in agreement before changing the subject that was becoming a burden on their lives. “Can I come round yours to study tonight?”

A glint of anger reached Feyre’s eyes, “Are they being bastards again?”

“They’re always bastards,” Lucien said, referring to his severely dysfunctional family where his father hated him, his mum didn’t care and his brothers made it their goal to make everyday a living hell.

“You’re always welcome at mine, you know that,” Feyre replied, reaching forward to squeeze his hand. He was grateful, as he knew Feyre’s family dynamic was far from functional too. 

“Well ain’t that cute, looks like your girlfriend and your best friend are having a secret affair in the library every lunchtime,” said Bron, who approached with what seemed to be a furious looking Tamlin by his side. They simultaneously rose from their seats, inwardly preparing for the oncoming storm.

“Fuck off, Bron,” spat Feyre as she began to put her things back in her satchel. Lucien caught Tamlin’s gaze and had to look away, the hurt in his eyes was piercing, making Lucien feel ridiculously guilty. It frustrated him that he made him feel that way. He had nothing to be guilty about - apart from hiding from him at lunch.

Tamlin’s voice showed no signs of hurt, but only a slight edge of anger, “Don’t tell my friends to fuck off when he does seem to have a point, Feyre.”

A whistle erupted from Bron’s mouth before he started to edge back, “Ah, lovers spat is about to ensue,” he clapped a hand on Tamlin’s back, “See you later man.”

Lucien had witnessed a lot of the recent fights between his two best friends but he stayed because Feyre asked him. He knew why, especially when Tamlin was becoming increasingly aggressive. Not that he believed that he ever would – ever could – hit Feyre, but it was a sad possibility giving his recent unpredictability.

Tamlin approached Feyre slowly, his voice a mask of calm but his eyes betrayed him. Both him and Feyre knew they were treading on eggshells. It shouldn’t be like this, he thought. “Do you know what they’re saying in the locker room? That my girlfriend is fucking my best friend behind my back. Now that you two are sneaking off when I’m at practise, it doesn’t really help to falsify that does it?”

A scoff erupted from Feyre’s mouth, “Do you really have that little trust in me? In Lucien? You believe your fuckboy friends over us? Then that really does show how insecure you are at the moment Tamlin.”

There wasn’t enough time to register really. From the moment the words left Feyre’s mouth to the moment where Tamlin’s hand grabbed at Feyre’s jaw forcefully - it was in that moment that Lucien truly did not recognise his best friend.

Before Lucien could even intervene, the librarian appeared at a few metres away behind Tamlin, “If you three don’t shut it then I’m throwing you out, understood?” before sauntering away, completely unaware of what she just stopped from happening.

It was as if reality had just kicked in, Tamlin dropped his hand and looked away with shame etched on his face while Feyre moved a few steps back. Her face was a picture of shock, anger and fear. Probably the same emotions that were reflected upon Lucien’s own face.

“Feyre I’m-“

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you Tamlin, but you need to get your shit together,” Lucien said, grabbing his bag and Feyre’s before placing a hand at her shoulder. “Because at this rate, you’re going to lose both of us.” He began to guide Feyre away as he left Tamlin staring at the ground, his fists clenching and unclenching, as if he himself could not believe what he just did. Good, Lucien thought, let this be a damned lesson.

***  
The day simply could not get any worse as Rhys slumped in the chair beside Feyre in literature class. Not only did she hate English – dyslexia was a bitch – but she also had a dislike for the smirking male beside her. It was a special dislike of sorts. Rhys was like a fly – she could never swat him away.

“Why hello Feyre, darling,” he took note of her slumped posture and pale face,“you’re looking rather…peaky today.”

Feyre mustered up enough energy to turn her head and shoot him a piercing glare. Rhys began to smile, but he faltered when he saw the look in her eyes.  
“Is everything okay?”

She turned her head back to the front of the room, where her teacher was setting up. Her face betrayed her emotions easily, so she didn’t want to be looking at Rhys when she said, “Absolutely dandy.”

Rhys was about to respond, but Mrs Beddor got there first and announced silence.

At the start of Freshman year, Feyre had been allocated Rhys to help her in English as she refused to have a special tutor. She despised the thought that she was deemed incapable because she liked reading and talking about books, but her dyslexia made it difficult for her to comprehend written word. That’s where Rhys came in, the guy who had won awards for his poetry in national competitions, who aced every English essay and submitted articles to local newspapers, whilst Feyre still spelt the word ‘definitely’ wrong every single time. 

Throughout the entire lesson, Feyre felt the constant looks from Rhys, as if urging her to make eye contact with him. But she wouldn’t give in. It was only when they were given a task did Feyre finally turn to him.

“I know I have no business in your life nor your relationships-“

“No you most definitely do not,” clarified Feyre.

“I know that. But I just want you to know that if you need anyone to talk to then I’m available.”

“Thanks Rhys, but I’m good.” And that was it. 

Feyre doodled on her tinted paper while she discussed Lord of the Flies with Rhys as he made notes. He wasn’t holding back his evident worry for her – the fleeting glances were the major indicator - but she tried to ignore it. She was so tired, exhausted by her own thoughts, she actually willed the clock to move forwards at a faster pace but to no avail. She replayed over and over again the events in the library. Was it her fault? She should have just denied him and not provoked him. She then mentally slapped herself. He’s the one that made it physical, not you. Feyre could not quite comprehend the look in her boyfriend’s eyes when he grabbed at her face, his fingers digging into her jaw with such force that she almost feared he bruised her. The searing rage was foreign to Feyre and it sparked some fear that she did not want to admit. Tamlin always had a temper, but he would never direct it at her unless they were fighting. Their fights were cut off by raised voices and elaborate hand gestures, but it never got physical. He seriously overstepped the line.  
Distracting herself from her thoughts, she watched Rhys. His inky black hair fell into his eyes as he wrote. No one in the damn school could deny that Rhysand Spera was attractive. It just added to his seemingly infinite charm that saw him as Head Boy. From his midnight blue eyes, his light brown skin, and hair that looked soft as fuck – what shampoo does this guy use – Feyre sometimes found the urge to paint him. She pushed that thought down.

“You could take a picture if you want,” he looked up and winked, obviously catching her staring and Feyre steeled her face into a frown despite the heat flushing her cheeks. Damn him.

“Don’t be a prick, Rhys.”

“It’s okay, I stare at you on a daily basis, so it’s only fair.” Feyre’s cheeks heated even more as she registered that admission. It only made Rhys grin even further. “I fucking love it when you blush, makes your freckles stand out.”

Feyre groaned, “Rhys, shut up.” She covered her face with her hands. The bell rang, saving her from the Rhysand’s laughter.

Feyre rushed to get her things back in her bag and threw it unceremoniously over her shoulder as she whisked past Rhys to leave. But he quickly caught her wrist, “I’m here if you ever need me.”

Their eyes met and the intensity in his gaze made her almost shiver, but she released herself from his loose grip with a see you tomorrow and walked out of the room.

Lucien met her in the hallway, the bustle of the end of the day around them. She spotted the dream team meeting at the end of the corridor behind her. They weren’t actually the ‘dream team’ but it was a name her and Lucien labelled them as the group comprised of people that every wanted to be or be with. Rhys had just caught up with them as he fist bumped Cassian. Cassian was the team captain of the Rugby team, and rightly so. He was built like a fucking bull. Openly bisexual and quite frankly hilarious, Feyre did actually like Cassian. He was a walking contradiction of sorts – he was the type of guy who looked like he could break your skull with one hand but he was also a massive softy. Somehow, he had adopted the same annoying tendencies as Rhys which he used on Feyre in history.

Azriel stood behind them with a small smile on his face. He was quite frankly Feyre’s favourite on the dream team, they sat together in art. He was a great artist, better at drawing than painting while Feyre worked the other way round. While he didn’t talk much, when he did, it was meaningful – and not many people knew he had a wicked sense of humour.

Morrigan then approached, a beacon of light with her golden hair and her golden smile. She was everyone’s best friend in a way, as Head Girl she made sure that everyone in the school were included. Feyre would not believe anyone could actually dislike the girl. 

The final member of the dream team, Amren, stood by the lockers with a permanent expression of boredom on her face. Feyre had a mutual acquaintance with Amren as her chemistry partner. There was only a small way to describe her – candid and a little scary. She wondered what it would be like to-

Feyre was torn out of her reverie with a hand waved in front of her face. Lucien looked at her suspiciously. She rolled her eyes in response and resumed walking beside her best friend. 

“Do you want to drop off by the shops and get some snacks?” he asked after a few moments.

Feyre grinned, “Why yes, I thought you’d never ask.”


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is reluctant, Rhys is flustered and Mor is just generally sad.

The phone buzzed between where Lucien and Feyre were sitting on her bed, surrounded by physics equations, sweet wrappers and a disrupted comfortable silence. They both tensed as they knew who the caller would be, but Feyre didn’t want to face him yet. Not yet.

Lucien watched as Feyre continued on through their homework, her attempts of blatantly ignoring the phone were unsuccessful, as although she stared at the paper, he knew she wasn’t thinking about the nuclear fusion.

He put down his homework and leaned towards her, “Feyre, maybe we should listen.”

“What if we don’t, what if we let him dwell on what he has done,” she leaned back against the pillows, her homework now discarded.

Lucien wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. He was so furious at his friend that he wanted to make him dwell, make him feel guilty. But the small part of his mind niggled at him. Help him, he needs you.

“You know he is in a vulnerable position, Fey. You know he has a short fuse at the moment.”

For a moment, he saw the contortion of anger that made its way onto Feyre’s face and Lucien wanted to take back what he said. It was as if he was trying to excuse Tamlin’s anger on his circumstance or blame it on Feyre and his provocation. He mentally hit himself with a shovel.

He was about to take back what he said before Feyre shook her head and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

With what seemed to be quite a lot of reluctance, Feyre picked up her phone. She scrolled through the texts, evident pity flickering behind her eyes and eventually passed it to Lucien.

_Baby I’m so sorry._

_Please talk to me._

_That was so out of order. I will get help I promise_

_I trust you, baby please._

_I will make it up to you, I swear it._

_I need to see you. Can I come round yours?_

He looked up, Feyre evidently lost in thought. He almost saw the conflict in her head, the internal debate. She was giving up on him, he knew it.

“I don’t want him to come round,” she said eventually, dragging a hand through her hair. “I don’t want him to make it up to me. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

There they were, the words Lucien feared the most. “I-I thought you loved him.”

A humourless laugh erupted from Feyre’s mouth, “I do – well I think I do.” She shook her head. “Well, I guess if you have to think about it then it’s no longer love.”

Lucien’s stomach was a pit and his heart was falling into it. “Feyre you can’t do this now, he needs you. He needs us. We need to help him, after - after everything he has done for us.”

A long pause. A hesitation. “And you think that he is worth saving.”

“Yes, _yes_.” Lucien couldn’t quite describe the relationship he had with his oldest friend. Their families had been close and they had grown up together. They were a team. When Tamlin started dating Feyre at the end of sophomore year, it had been the three of them. Feyre became another best friend, he grew to love her in a completely platonic way as he would love a sister. The amount of times he would end up staying round Feyre’s or Tamlin’s after his father decided to raise a fist or his brothers ganged up on him was considerable. And the thought of it ending now... He knew if they broke up then he would be forced to choose. That was a choice that Lucien wanted to avoid at all costs, he couldn’t choose between his childhood bestfriend and his greatest confidant.

Feyre swallowed audibly, “I will give him another chance then.” She picked up the phone and texted a reply.

***  
“Cassian, for fucks sake, shut up.”

Cassian ruffled Rhys’ hair in a brotherly manner, a stupid grin etched on his face as Rhys batted his hand away in annoyance.

“Rhys,” chided Ines, Rhys’ mother, as she passed her daughter the potatoes. “That language is not to be spoken in this house, especially not in front of your father, understood?”

Azriel smiled quietly as he watched his brothers bicker, and nudged Lena’s elbow as they quietly snickered at Rhys expense. Dinner was always livelier without Rhys’ father here, his presence always forced an air of tension and discomfort. Azriel was grateful for Damien’s long absences at work that saw him weeks sometimes months in different countries.  
It took only five minutes through the door for the daily roast of Rhys to begin, which was always orientated around Feyre Archeron – the girl who sat beside Azriel in art class, the girl who Rhys crushed the fuck on since forever. Only did it slip out in conversation at the dinner table a couple months back, and thus Ines was desperate to know about the girl that her son had fallen head over heels with.

“Mum, please tell him to stop,” begged Rhys.

“Why should I? I love hearing about my future daughter in law,” she winked as she took a long gulp of her water and Rhys groaned.

“She looked super pretty today, didn’t she Rhys? I mean you would know, you couldn’t stop staring at her in gym class,” teased Cassian.

“Oh Feyre darling,” Lena chimed in.

Rhys pointed his fork towards her menacingly, “don’t you start too.”

His family continued to laugh and bicker, the conversation drawing away from Rhys’ puppy love towards more casual conversation, towards Lena’s day at school and Cassian’s upcoming rugby match. He let himself dissolve into the voices of his family around him, basking in the warmth and light hearted atmosphere. Everyday he thanked whatever gods there were for the Spera family. His adoptive family. Ines was the only one he could ever call his mother. He was adopted by the family when he was 6 years old, after a brutal child abuse case that was filed by Ines herself after Rhys brought his new friend home to dinner one day and she saw first-hand the cigarette burns that adorned his arms and legs. The ever present shadows of his past were muted by Ines’ soft hand on his cheek, Lena’s youthful laughter, Cassian’s comforting smile, Rhys’ gentle eyes and Morrigan’s warm company. They were missing her tonight. Where Mor would basically live round the Spera’s manor, her parents were home from their business trip so she was trapped back in her own house. He was broken out of his thoughts by the simultaneous _what_ that both Rhys and Cassian said in response to Lena.

“I said, that I have a party Saturday. Can I please go mum?” At 14, Lena was beginning to experiment with makeup and had started the period of extreme eye rolling that was now basically a universal phase. Considering she was the exact female replica of her biological brother, from her black hair, to her dark blue eyes and tan skin, if you squinted, you could picture what Rhys would look like with too light lip gloss on. It amused Azriel infinitely.

Rhys snorted, “I know what you Freshman’s are up to nowadays. Parties for 14 year olds are loaded with booze.”

“And boys,” Cassian cracked his knuckles.

Ines snorted, “Lena, you know I am going to say yes, as long as there is no alcohol. Can you promise me that?”

There was no hesitation as Lena said yes. Azriel could read her easily, she had practised saying yes without that hesitation. Damn 14 year olds, can’t they just wait until they’re legal.

“Right, well it’s settled, one of the boys will take you and pick you up.”

Rhys coughed abruptly, “Kind of an issue with that one, we also have a house party Saturday.”

“And we plan to get hammered,” mumbled Cassian.

“I won’t drink then,” said Azriel, “I will take Lena and pick her up. And take you two idiots home.”

Ines thanked him, and Lena beamed at him with her most adorable smile, “thanks Az, I always knew you were my favourite.”

***  
Morrigan was hating every damn second her parents were home. She didn’t want to be here eating dinner with her parents. She wanted to be in her true home with Ines, Lena, Rhys, Az and Cassian. The relentless prying from her parents was tiring, especially when she knew they were empty questions for a daughter they didn’t really care about.

“Checked with the school, your grades are good. You’re slipping in your sciences though Morrigan. If I hear you’re being distracted in you Senior year by alcohol and boys, there will be consequences,” her father boomed. Her father, Keir, never talked normally, as if he was so conditioned to giving orders all the time. His tone was always raised, as if he were on the verge of shouting or barking – she couldn’t tell.

She grimaced as they were still completely unaware of how boys were the least of her problems.

“Yes, I don’t want any more like that George boy who nearly made you get a B in English in Sophomore year,” said her mother, carefully cutting her steak into careful squares.

What her parents didn’t know, was the George was actually Georgia and that their daughter was gayer than Ellen Page and Ian McKellen put together. She didn’t think that her parents would appreciate their golden daughter, the heir to their name, would be a raging homosexual. But it couldn’t be helped when the first time Mor crushed on someone - Katie Porter in 5th Grade - the first words she thought were _wow I love girls._

Her parents continued to talk about her role as Head Girl, her university application, and oh my Morrigan, Sarah’s son, you remember Daniel don’t you? Well, I am telling you, what a handsome boy he has become. She imagined transporting herself into a different life, where she was the daughter of Ines and not the niece of her. Where she would have parents who would openly accept her and whatever girlfriend she deemed wife material to bring home. It pained her how she couldn’t have that life.

For now, it seemed she would be closeted forever. And she had never felt more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I will be posting parts 3, 4 and 5 on here while I can. Parts 6, 7 and 8 will be posted on my tumblr @illyrianrhys while I'm away for a week, so enjoy! Updates will be back to normal after that hopefully!


	3. Lasagne?

Tuesday’s sucked. Feyre had no frees and she had double English with Rhysand. To top it off, she barely slept last night. After she had texted back Tamlin, she told Lucien to go to avoid adding more fuel to Tamlins paranoia. But with her father at an army veteran’s meeting and both her sisters at University, Feyre felt slight fear that she would be properly alone with her boyfriend for the first time in almost two weeks. When Tamlin had arrived, he brought her some flowers and chocolates and showered her with affection. It was suffocating almost, but she felt comforted that her boyfriend was back to normal. Some of him anyway. When she tried to get him to talk about his mother, he would change the subject and end up making out with her instead leading to him staying the night. On a fucking Monday. It kind of pissed her off. But she decided to follow Lucien’s advice,  _be patient_ , he said before he left and gave her a quick hug.

Her phone buzzed as Rhys sat down next to her. It was Tamlin asking  _let me take you out tonight._  Feyre sighed through her nose before texting back,  _I have work tonight, you know that._  One of the first things on Tamlins con list was that he hated Feyre having a job – although she had no damn choice. She and her father could not live on the army amputee veteran’s benefit they were given alone, and so for years, since she was 14, Feyre worked at the café down the street from the school. It was only just enough to get by, but it sufficed.

_Change your shift please xx_ he texted back. Feyre threw her phone back in her bag, not wanting to go back into that argument. She was sick of her boyfriend giving her unnecessary grief.

“Rough night, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked, taking in her dark circles that Feyre didn’t bother to cover up.

Feyre blatantly ignored the jab, before asking, “Are you happy Rhys?”

Rhys was evidently taken back by the question, his eyes widened, “Well, I’m… fairly happy. Are you okay Feyre?”

Again she ignored his enquiry on her state of ‘okayness’, “If someone changes for the worse, do you think they can get better again?”

Rhys’ eyes flashed and his voice lowered, “This is about Tamlin isn’t it.”

Feyre shrugged, she wanted to tell someone how she truly felt about her boyfriend, as Lucien was too close to Tamlin himself, she needed someone who was impartial.

He was about to open his mouth but he was cut out by the register. He resorted to conversing in a different way – writing. Feyre observed him as he tore out a bit of pink paper from her pad and wrote in block capitals – the easiest way Feyre found it to read.

_WHAT DID HE DO?_

Midnight blue eyes pierced into ice blue ones, as Feyre battled with her instincts on whether to tell the Head Boy of her boyfriend problems.

She gave in, and wrote back in her scrawling handwriting,  _I dont think its apropriate to tell you in writing._  She passed the paper back.

His eyes hardened,  _DID HE HURT YOU?_

A hesitation. Feyre shook her head but Rhys didn’t seem convinced. She mentally hit herself that she just disclosed personal information to Rhys so quickly. Indeed, they had known each other since the start of high school, and he had been an annoying yet comforting presence ever since. She remembered when she started dating Tamlin that he ceased from talking to her. It was quite evident that Rhys disliked Tamlin, but those feelings were well reciprocated. She toyed with the frays on her ripped mom jeans in consideration.

Was he a trustworthy confidant? Tamlin already hated it that she had to sit with his enemy in maths and English, he would hate it even more if she started telling Rhys of their relationship troubles that as Head Boy is easy information to spread.

Yet… _Rhys isn’t like that._

Nevertheless, Feyre scrunched up the paper in her fist and Rhys sighed before turning back to the analysis of Piggy from Lord of the Flies on the board. An uneasy tension settled over the pair, and Feyre wanted it to go back to the bickering and teasing between discussing the symbolism of a pig heads and conch shells. At the end of the lesson, they were instructed to work in pairs to write a thesis on the manifestations of evil on the island by Friday, and Feyre winced at the thought if Tamlin knew she was spending time with another guy outside of the classroom – even if it was for educational purposes.  

Rhys turned to her with that sly grin, the previous tension of the lesson fading away, as they were packing up, “Do you want to work on it after school? You could come to mine. I have cocktail sausages.”

Feyre breathed out a laugh, “I have work until 7, Rhys.”

“I can pick you up after work? I have less free periods this week so it may need to roll into after school hours.”

Oh god. Tamlin would bite her head off if he knew she was going to Rhysand Spera’s  _house._  Especially after he wanted to do something with her tonight. But she didn’t want another night of Tamlin coming round and ‘ _making it up to her’_ , and she decided that the project was an educational necessity…

Today she was feeling rebellious.  “Okay, fine,” she said. Rhys looked like he wasn’t really expecting her to agree, but his face spread into a grin.

“You can have dinner too, my mum makes a top notch lasagne. And maybe we could watch a movie afterwards? You know-“

“Rhys, I’m coming round to work on the project…and try your mum’s top notch lasagne, comprendez?”

Rhys laughed nervously, before coughing, “Yeah of course.” This was a new side of Rhys, not dramatic or smooth, but…kind of flustered. It was rather amusing.

*** 

Rhys was fucking ecstatic. He can’t believe she actually agree to go round his  _house_. He suppressed his contentment as he walked out of class with Feyre.  _Keep your fucking cool Rhys, keep it…cooool._

He was doing a good job until Morrigan approached, her blonde hair bouncing, her cashmere jumper and checked skirt were immaculate. Seeing the two of them walking together, she gave him a quick wink as she stopped in front of them.

“Hey Feyre, how are you?” asked Mor sweetly. Rhys shot her a look as if to say, _don’t fuck this up for me Mor._

Feyre replied with her usual ‘fine’ and an unconvincing smile.

“Did you need me, Mor?” asked Rhys, trying to prevent any prying or embarrassment Mor would cause.

“Yes, actually, Council Meeting at lunch. It’s an emergency, apparently douchebag Bron Davies punched a teacher and we need to take disciplinary action.”

A groan erupted from Rhys’ mouth, “Jesus Christ. Fine I will be there.”

Mor turned back to Feyre with an easy smile, “I will see you in gym class tomorrow then, Feyre.”

“Actually,” said Rhys, “Feyre will be joining us for dinner tonight, we have a  _project_  to work on.” He stressed the word project to convince Mor that Feyre was coming only on a strictly educational purpose.

An inhuman noise escaped Mor and Feyre smiled in amused confusion. Rhys shot her the hardest glare and she cleared her throat, “Well, tonight it is then,” she squeezed Feyre’s hand as she walked past before throwing Rhys a thumbs up, mouthing  _I’m calling your mum,_  as she walked away. He wanted to dig a hole and die in it.

“Mor gets…very enthusiastic about little things,” Rhys said, attempting to excuse his cousins strange behaviour.

Feyre shook her head with a laugh, “I’ve always loved that girl.”

***

“So, you’re joining us for dinner tonight,” stated Cassian with an excited smile, as Feyre finished copying the notes from the boards on Napoleon’s rise to power. It was the last lesson of the day and Cassian was desperate to go home to watch Rhys squirm at dinner with Feyre Archeron in their presence. He couldn’t fucking wait.

Feyre snorted abruptly, “Wow, you don’t have guests often, do you?”

“Not special ones,” he gave a wink and patted her hand.

“Riiiight,” said Feyre, evident confusion on her face.

His friendship with Feyre was an easy one. They had been in the same history class since day one, and he always had a fondness for Feyre ever since the day she threw a whole bottle of pepsi over James Simpsons head after calling Cassian  _a fucking homo_. Not to mention that when they were in Freshman year, he had the biggest crush on the Senior, Nesta Archeron, who he still pondered over today, and tried to draw details from Feyre.

“She’s engaged now Cassian, to a guy called Thomas. Stupid really, she has only just finished Uni,” she said after Cassian enquired over her life. “He is a massive douchebag though, once he came to dinner and he made a move on me. Nesta didn’t believe me and we haven’t talked since.”

One day, Cassian thought, Nesta would see him as a man, and not a nerdy 14 year old Freshman. And then he would beat up this Thomas dude and ride off into the sunset – too far. It was unfortunate that Cassian was a hopeless romantic and he had no one to share it with. So for now, he would wait. And  _maybe_  go out with a couple of guys and girls in the meanwhile to keep him busy.

***  

Tamlin had approached Feyre at lunch, as Lucien and her resumed eating on the field watching boys kick a ball around, considering their ordinary spot in the library was busted. He didn’t say anything about meeting her that night so she was fairly relieved. It was strange really, the three of them ate lunch together like old times and Tamlin was back to his normal self. Kind of.

Feyre didn’t tell Lucien where she was going after work, because she could picture his reaction already.  _What the fuck are you doing, Fey?_

She really had to question what she was doing. She just quickly agreed without even really considering it to go to her English partners house. This is what having a possessive boyfriend - having to consider her boyfriends unreason to make decisions, most that have no romantic connotation whatsoever. A stupid small project. But Tamlin would read that as an excuse to fuck Rhysand Spera. 

The thoughts of  _what if Tamlin finds out_ created a few different possible scenerios. One scenario would be where Tamlin wouldn’t give a shit because he is a good boyfriend and he trusts her (A definite impossibility). A second possibility would be he gets absolutely furious and stop talking to her for a couple of days but eventually get back with her. A third possibility, was not unlikely but it was frightening. She couldn’t help but think back to how he had grabbed her in the library. What if he did that again, but worse? Considering he was mad at Lucien and her sneaking off, how mad would he be with going to Rhysand’s house? Rhys Spera. Rhys fucking Spera.

As she wiped the last table in the café, she pulled off her apron and took the remaining glasses to the kitchen, before waving goodbye to her colleagues. Rhys was already waiting for her out front in his black Camaro, and she rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. A 17 year old with a Camaro. Damn rich people. His insurance must be sky high.

“Am I going to regret this?” she asked as Rhys smirked at her in greeting.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Maybe, English buddy.”

“Never call me that again.”

***

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel as he listened to Feyre’s story of this strange guy coming to her café every day and leaving his number for her with a larger tip. His heart was pounding because she was in his  _car_ , coming back to his  _house,_ meeting his  _mum_  and eating her  _lasagne._ If he ignored the true motive of why Feyre was coming he could almost picture it as his girlfriend, meeting his mum for the first time. A boy can dream.

As they pulled onto the drive, her eyes widened slightly at the scale of his house, before she delved into her bag and pulled out a clean shirt, as she was still wearing her work uniform of a black polo and black jeans. He was about to protest that  _she didn’t need to,_  before she  _started to take off her fucking shirt right there in front of him._

Lucky (but really unlucky) for him, she was wearing a camisole underneath and Rhys breathed out a sigh that was a mix of relief and disappointment.

“Sorry, I needed to get out of this polo,” she said, pulling on her wonderwoman t-shirt – he thought he couldn’t love her anymore.

He cleared his throat, “It’s fine. You ready?”

“Yeah, ready as ever to discuss manifestations of evil on a Tuesday evening.”

_Right._ Because she was here for the project. The damn project. They climbed out of his car as he led her to the front door. But before his key reached the lock, his mum opened the door, a dazzling smile on her face, “Well if it isn’t the lovely Feyre Archeron, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting part 9 on tumblr tomorrow! @illyrianrhys   
> Thank you so much for reading guys, really appreciate every single one of you <3


	4. The Fall

Ines insisted that they eat dinner first before  _Rhys whisked Feyre away to study_  and then his mother actually winked at him. Rhys truly wanted to die, this was an exceptionally bad idea.

As they sat down to eat, his mother at the head of the table, while Feyre sat between Mor and Rhys on one side, and Lena sat between Cassian and Azriel on the other side, Rhys’ mother was asking Feyre questions she already knew the answers to considering Feyre was a daily conversation in the Spera household unbeknownst to her.

“What are you planning on taking at University?” Ines asked, at least she was acting normally now, but every now and again she would look at her son with a glint in her eye. Earlier, when Rhys was helping her make the final touches on dinner, she whispered,  _you two would make such beautiful babies._

“I’m considering Astrophysics or an Art degree,” Feyre replied. 

Ines smiled proudly as if she was Feyre’s mother before turning to the table, “Hear that, Rhys? A scientist  _and_  an artist.” 

“Yep, Mum, I heard her say that a few seconds ago, the same time as you actually.”

Thankfully Feyre was too engrossed in her lasagne to see Cassian give him a thumbs up and mouth,  _this is going well._

And then Ines asked a question that was entirely inappropriate to ask her son’s crush, “What do you think about marriage?”

“Mum!” Rhys spluttered.

Feyre however didn’t seem to be taken back by the question, “I’m not opposed to it, I guess.”

“How are your family? Do you have any siblings?” pried Ines. Now this was territory that Rhys should have warned her about as Rhys did not disclose the details about her veteran father.

She stuttered, “Well…”

Rhys shot his mother a longing glare, before Ines said “I’m sorry if I’ve stepped over the line-“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Feyre said, “My eldest sister has just left uni, I have another sister still at University. And I am living with my father at the moment. He’s…as well as he can be.”

Thankfully, Ines changed the subject towards Morrigan and how her parents were, understanding that Feyre did not want to talk anymore about her family. Rhys was struggling to relax, he was so tense that even Feyre turned to ask him whether he was okay. He was sick of the fleeting glances from every single member of his family, with their secret smiles and winks. It was frustrating.

When he finally relaxed and stuffed the finally piece of garlic bread into his mouth, Lena piped up, “Do you have a boyfriend, Feyre?”

 _Damn it Lena,_  she already knew the answer to that. He shot his little sister a warning look. She seemed to be thriving on Rhys’ embarrassment. Only earlier did she pull on his hand to place a little box in it. Inside was a cheap plastic ring.  _She’s pretty, you should marry her._

Feyre took a moment, looking at Lena with wide eyes, “Um, yes, currently I do.”

“ _Currently,_ ” she said casually.

“Lena,” Rhys chastised, hoping that she could hear the desperation in his voice.

Feyre truly looked taken back by the 14 year old, who looked up innocently with her midnight blue eyes. She then started laughing, truly laughing, and Rhys thanked fucking Jesus and Mary.

Cassian ruffled Lena’s hair, “Don’t listen to her, Feyre, she’s a little shit sometimes.”

Feyre smiled as Lena batted Cassian’s hand away before excusing herself to go to the bathroom. He waited until he heard the downstairs bathroom close.

“I hate you all,” said Rhys.

“Hey! I didn’t do anything,” protested Mor.

“You have winked so many times at me that I’m starting to see you with only one eye,” he turned to his sister, “And you, Christ Lena, asking about her boyfriend? Seriously?”

Lena shrugged, “I helped you out there, she literally just said her current relationship has a dead line. This is the time to make a move, make her realise she’s missing out on…” she gestured to her brother, her nose scrunched up in disgust, “…whatever you have to offer.”

“You know you’re screwed when your 14 year old sister is giving you romantic advice,” said Cassian, stuffing an impossibly large piece of lasagne in his mouth.

***

They had spent well over half an hour at the table, and it was 8:05 by the time Rhys took Feyre to his room to work on the project. As he closed the door, the first words that left his mouth were, “I’m so sorry.”

Feyre shook her head with an amused smile on her face, “Rhys, its fine. Your family are amazing.”

“My mum and sister seem to enjoy playing 21 questions a lot, I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable.”

“Honestly, Rhys, it was fine,” she looked at him intently, “You, on the other hand, didn’t seem very happy, in fact.”

He awkwardly put his hands in his pockets, “I was just… worried that they were too… probing.”

“Stop worrying. It. Is. Fine.”

Feyre watched as his chest exhaled with a sigh of relief, and she took the time to look around his room. It was immaculate. His desk was exceptionally tidy, with draws dedicated to each subject. His double bed was perfectly made, definitely not the typical teenage boy’s room. On one wall was a collage of pictures. In one picture, he may have been 10 or 11, he stood between Cassian and Azriel –Cassian was huge then too – and all three held cheesy smiles. In another picture he must have been only 3 or 4, holding his newborn baby sister in his arms. There was another one with Rhys and Mor dressed up as Mario and Luigi when they were 8 or 9. The room was colour co-ordinated, black, grey and deep purple. It seemed, Rhys has a flare for interior design, and that he was slightly OCD.

Rhys still stood at the door, unsure of what to do, although it was his room, so Feyre whipped out her notepad and her copy of Lord of the Flies and slumped down at the foot of his bed opposite his desk.

“Right, let’s get started.”

***

They had been relaying ideas for their thesis, writing down notes and spider diagrams on each manifestation of evil. The work was steady and they had made some serious progress – already nearly finishing it - in the hour where they sat opposite of Rhys’ bed eating the Malteasers he had stashed in his desk. It was well past 9 now, and Feyre knew she should begin hinting of the idea of leaving, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. She was rather comfortable sitting here, listening to Rhys poetically talk about Lord of the Flies. His voice, she noticed, was so soothing. She was grateful that Rhys was accustomed to her dyslexia as he went at her pace and was exceptionally patient.

Eventually, they ended up throwing the malteasers in the air and catching them in their mouths. They even made it a competition, as they both realised they had a talent at it. It ended with Rhys standing at the other side of the room as she threw a malteaser towards him where he effortlessly caught it in his mouth, ending the game 19 points to Feyre’s 18.

“Bullshit,” said Feyre, “you tampered with you last throw to make sure I wouldn’t catch it.”

Rhys danced towards her, his hand cupped around his ear, “I can’t hear you over the screaming fans chanting my name.”

“You prick,” Feyre said as she slumped back on his bed, narrowly avoiding their notes. As Rhys lay down at the end of the bed beside her she took out her phone to check the time.

_Shit._

10 missed calls and about 30 texts from Tamlin and Lucien appeared. Her heart thundered as she scrolled through them slowly starting with Lucien’s. She was so caught up in what her boyfriend might do that she completely forgot to actually make up an excuse.

_Fey, where are you_

_Tamlin just came round asking me where you were_

_He is really mad Fey_

_Do you need me to come get you from somewhere?_

_Feyre where are you?!?_

She moved onto Tamlins, swallowing thickly.

_I will pick you up after work x_

_Baby where are you I’ve been here for 15 minutes_

_They told me you left, why the fuck would you walk home when you can call me_

_You’re not at home, where are you?_

_Answer your fucking phone Feyre_

_Lucien doesn’t even know where you are_

_FEYRE ANSWER YOUR PHONE_

_You’re probably fucking someone else aren’t you_

_I always knew you were a slut_

_Stupid fucking whore answer your damn phone_

The words were beginning to blur, not because she was struggling to read them but because her eyes were filling with tears and she couldn’t even finish the next ten texts. A gentle hand took the phone from her grip and locked it before placing it between them. She suddenly felt mortified, as she sat there with silent tears running down her face. She was in another guy’s house, a guy her boyfriend despised. She couldn’t help but feel so  _stupid._

Rhys opened his mouth to say something but Feyre moved, stuffing all her notes into her bag and walking to the door.

“Feyre wait, let me take you home.” She shook her head, already knowing that Tamlin was waiting outside her house. He had done it before a couple months back when she went shopping with Elain without telling him. Her dad was passed out drunk on the sofa and thus was unable to tell him of her whereabouts. It was insane really. She couldn’t bring Rhys into this mess, no doubt Tamlin would throw a punch if he knew where she was tonight – even if it was for a stupid project.

“I’m just gonna-just going to call Lucien,” she choked out, as she typed into her phone,  _pleas come get me, Rhys Speras house_.

Lucien typed back within seconds,  _on my way._

She began to turn away, already trying to devise an excuse, Rhys followed her out onto the landing, he gently took hold of her hand and said, “He shouldn’t treat you like that Feyre.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes, shame flooding her body at the thought of Rhys seeing those texts. Those vile texts.

“I will see you tomorrow Rhys.” She shook free, quickly descending the stairs and wiped her eyes on the way. Ines walked into the hallway as she approached the door.

“Is everything alright, Feyre?”

A quick nod, “Yes, thank you Mrs Spera for dinner, it was wonderful,” she said thickly. And with that she opened the door letting the bitter night autumn air graze her face.

***

Mor approached Rhys on the landing, as he stared down the stairs to where Feyre was rushing towards the door. She grasped her cousins arm, “What happened?”

“Tamlin’s a fucking douchebag that’s what happened.”

With that, she brushed past him and followed Feyre outside where she stopped and turned as she heard Mor approach, her eyes were lined with tears. She grasped Feyre’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Feyre sniffled into her shoulder but she hugged back just as tightly. They pulled back eventually, and Mor grasped her hand in earnest, “If you ever need to talk, text me, call me, anything. Okay?”

Feyre nodded, her eyes absent. Mor went on, “Us girls need to stick together. We can’t let boys walk all over us, make us feel small. You shouldn’t let a man make you feel like this, Feyre. You’re powerful, don’t forget that.”

***

Lucien had no idea why Feyre was at Rhys’. As soon as he received her text stormed out of his room, frantically putting his jacket on as panicked over whether his best friend was okay. He arrived just as Feyre reached the end of the driveway, and she immediately slipped into the passenger seat, her face stained with tears.

“What did he do to you, Feyre?” demanded Lucien as he drove away.

Feyre scoffed in disgust at what he was insinuating, “Rhys? Are you kidding? He didn’t do anything to me.”

“Then why the fuck were you at his house?” Lucien felt  _angry_ , he had no idea what could have gone through Feyre’s head to think what she was doing was a good idea. Not when Tamlin was so vulnerable.

“Don’t  _you_  start raising your voice at me when I will have enough of that when Tamlin sees me.”

Lucien sighed in shame, she was right. He shouldn’t be mad at her, they were in this together. He pulled over at the side of the road, still about ten minutes away from Feyre’s house.

He spoke with an assured calm, reaching out to grasp his best friends hand, “Tell me everything.”

***

The Archeron house neared, and both Lucien and Feyre tensed as they saw Tamlin’s car, he was leaning on the side of it tapping furiously at his phone.

“I’ve got your back,” murmured Lucien as they both left the safety of the car.

As Tamlin looked up, noticing them, Feyre saw nothing of the boyfriend she knew in his eyes. She unconsciously edged closer to Lucien as they walked towards him.

“Do you have any fucking idea how worried sick I was over you?” Tamlin barked out.

“Relax Tamlin,” Lucien intervened, “She was at Morrigan’s and her phone was on silent.”

Her boyfriend took a step closer, “what is the fucking point in having a phone when you have it on silent?”

Lucien moved towards Feyre slightly, angling her behind him, “Tamlin,  _calm down.”_

“Not going to say anything Feyre? Just going to let your new boyfriend talk for you, huh?”

She hated how he made her feel so small, how he was able to belittle her so easily. She didn’t want this.  _You’re powerful_ , Mor said.

With a deep breath she spitted out with enough venom to reassert her confidence, “You have no damn right to control me Tamlin, you don’t need to know my whereabouts every single second.”

Tamlin scoffed, “Excuse me for caring about my girlfriend. Your dads passed out again by the way, like the fucking mess he is.”

“Fuck you,” she spat out. Red. All Feyre saw was blind rage. But her legs kept her rooted to the spot, her fear of him paralysing her. She knew that although fire seeped through her veins, violence was the last thing they needed in this situation. If only she would have voiced that.

Lucien seemed just has angry, “You need help, Tamlin. Do you not realise what you’re doing, calling your girlfriend a whore? What is wrong with you? You’re out of control man, you’re messed up in the damned head.”

Even if time slowed, and one could observe in detail the moments at the end of Feyre Archeron’s driveway, Lucien nor Feyre really expected the fist that connected with Lucien’s face. His head banged against Tamlin’s car and his body slumped to the ground in a boneless heap.

Feyre felt utterly numb as she looked to Lucien’s motionless body and back up to Tamlin.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice deadpan, it was as if he had just returned to his own body, his fist flexing from the impact with Lucien’s face.

“You’re fucking  _insane_ ,” breathed Feyre, she moved towards Lucien but Tamlin got to her first. He gripped her shoulders with such force, desperation behind his eyes as he moved his face close to hers.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t control it,” he rasped. Feyre tried to break free from his grip, her breathing was becoming difficult now, but he pulled her closer. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

Ripping herself out of his grip frantically, she shouted, “ _Leave.”_ She moved to kneel beside Lucien. Her heart was racing in panic. “Just  _leave_.”

She heard him return back to his car, his footsteps slow. She barely noticed his car driving off as she shook at Lucien’s shoulders, desperately trying to get him conscious.

***

Unconsciousness was a peculiar thing. As everything lay still and dark, the world around you was still moving. Sometimes, you could feel the motion while you lay motionless. Lucien could feel hands shaking his shoulders, the heavy breathing of panic. There were distant shouts, a car driving away. He felt his vision slide back into place after what seemed to be minutes, the cold pavement a reminder of reality.

“Lucien, oh my god, tell me what to do. Do you want me to call an ambulance?” Feyre urged, she was kneeling next to him, her bag under his head.

“No…” he rasped out. “No just help me sit up.” She did as he asked, easing him into a sitting position. He raised his hand to his face, the points of contact with Tamlin’s fist and his car were throbbing. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Lucien, he  _knocked you out._ ”

Right, that was an issue. Tamlin had just punched him but he couldn’t help but think that he deserved it- he did just call him messed in the head.

“Come on, I need to get you to the hospital, you could be seriously concussed right now.” Feyre made a move to help him up, and he let her. The world did seem to be a little blurred, there were no sharp edges to things. But he couldn’t let her take him to the hospital, he had suffered with concussion before thanks to his brothers, he knew what to do.

“Feyre, seriously, I’m fine, I need to get home.”

She laughed incredulously, “Right, because I’m just going to let you drive when you could pass out at any moment. Haha, not happening. If you refuse to go to the hospital, then you’re staying at mine. Come on.”

She left no room for argument as she helped him to the door of her house. He didn’t realise how much he was leaning on Feyre as she guided him inside her tiny hallway. Maybe it was best that he stayed the night. Feyre did a pretty good job ignoring her passed out father on the sofa as they passed the living room to reach the stairs.

“I would make you stay down here, but it seems the sofa is already occupied,” she said, bitterness seeping through.

They managed to stumble up the stairs, avoiding the chair lift, before she almost carried him to the end of the hallway. Luciens bones felt immensely heavy all of a sudden. Feyre seemed to agree as she muttered, “Shit Lucien, you weigh like a ton of bricks.”

He didn’t recognise this room as Feyre placed him on the bed. It was a dusty pink and very… floral. The bed spread was floral patterned, different pictures of flowers adorned the walls and even the carpet was a pale green that resembled that of grass.

“You can sleep in Elain’s room, she has the comfiest bed.”

 _Elain_. The middle sister. The one who he had only saw in the school hallways in the first two years of high school. She was smaller than Feyre even when she was two years older than her. He remembered himself thinking Elain as a doll, a porcelain doll.

“Right, you can sleep but I will be waking you up at intervals every 2 hours or so,” she said her voice was still shaking, and she started to remove his shoes. “Do you want to take your jeans off?”

Her voice was sounding like she was speaking under water, but Lucien nodded faintly. After Feyre was finished taking his jeans off, she helped him under the covers in Elain Archeron’s bed. The room was dimming quickly, spots of white clouding his vision. He didn’t know how long he stared at the ceiling, but he felt something cold being pressed against his cheek. He heard the faint murmur of Feyre’s voice. He let it lull him into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry bby Lucien


	5. P.E. is for exercising not sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v important chapter about boobs and awkwardness

Exhaustion was not even quite the word to describe how Feyre felt in that moment as she sat in maths, first period. She had slept in broken intervals of two hours, each time waking Lucien up to give him water or rearrange his pillows. She had even tended to her father, clearing empty bottles of wine away.

Her father had waked when she lay a blanket over him, “You must hate me,” he rasped. She had heard this before, it was at least two nights a week where her father was too past reality to even get himself to bed.

“I don’t hate you dad. I hate what you are doing to yourself,” is what she would say in response every time. She ended up removing his prosthetic right leg since he must have forgotten to take it off by himself. It was a painful task, seeing her father destroy himself. Ever since he had lost his leg when she was 14, he had lost himself. Drowning himself in alcohol to avoid the physical and mental pain. Her sisters had long given up on seeing him, although Elain often sent letters and called. She was always his favourite, Nesta was always her mothers, while Feyre seemed to be the unwanted child.

Feyre rarely thought about her mother. She wasn’t dead, but she may as well be. At 14, her mother left only 3 months after her father lost his leg, claiming it was too much for her to handle. She knew her older sisters still kept in contact, but Feyre wanted nothing to do with her mother, they never got on anyway.

As Feyre sat there after three hours of broken up sleep, she realised she had even forgotten to eat. Lucien insisted he was fine in the morning, the purple bruise across his cheekbone fully blossomed; he even walked in a straight line to prove it. He told her to stay at home, get some sleep. But Feyre couldn’t bear the thought of staying at home in her bed with her own thoughts. She feared that if she went to bed, she would never get back out of it. Lucien managed to drive himself home despite Feyre’s opposition against the idea.  

It would be hard to survive today without Lucien. And Feyre immediately regretted why she even came in at all, as she felt Rhysand slide into the seat next to hers. She felt gentle fingers tilt her face towards him as he studied her face, checking her arms. His eyes were a mix of concern and anger, she doubted her eyes showed anything at all.

“I saw Tamlin’s bruised knuckles.”

“Not me. Lucien.” were the only words the Feyre got out as she shook Rhysand’s touch away.

“Is he okay?”

Feyre swore she could hear a touch of concern that laced his voice. “Kind of,” she replied.

“Shit, Feyre, have you slept at all?” He moved towards her, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze on the side of her face.

She shrugged, staring at the corner of her desk.

“My god, you must feel ill.”

“Rhysand, I’m fine,” she deadpanned.

Rhys scoffed, “Seriously? You think I believe that.”

“I don’t care what you believe just piss off and leave me alone,” she snapped. She didn’t come into school for this.

“Good,” was all he said. She turned to him in confusion and he shot her a wink and an insufferable smirk. “Don’t let the flame die out,” he added. Feyre rolled her eyes, turning back to the front of the room where class had just begun.

Somehow, Feyre realised, Rhys had managed to keep her awake  _and_  sane by the end of the lesson. He was annoying the living daylights out of her - feigning stupidity to make Feyre teach him some equation, making sure that his right elbow was bumping into her left one when they were writing, doodling on her paper. So she snapped at him and called him a prick and he let her, throwing her shit eating grins to piss her off and calling her  _darling._

As she escaped the classroom, Rhys caught up to her.

“You’re like a lost puppy,” she said as walked next to her.

“Only for you, my darling.”

She rolled her eyes yet again, but she froze as she realised who was walking towards her. Tamlin looked mildly pissed, the knuckles on his right fist were purple, but she could tell he was keeping himself in check as he was about to encounter with the Head Boy. He stopped in front of Rhys and Feyre, choosing to blatantly ignore the former.

“Can we talk?”

“No,” Feyre said, she was surprised by how firmly she said it.

Tamlin’s eyes narrowed as he took in Rhys, who was standing casually with his hands in his pockets and his head cocked.

“Give us some space, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, considering Feyre just clearly announced how little she wants to speak to you.”

People in the hallway were beginning to look, and Feyre’s heart began to pound in her chest. She would not be the cause of a scene, not here. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath before taking Tamlin’s arm and leading him outside. Managing to catch a glimpse of Rhys before she left as he stood in the hallway, his hands in his evidently expensive black jeans, she shook her head at him meaning one thing,  _don’t intervene._

***

Cassian approached Rhys in the hallway as he saw Feyre guiding the douchebag out of the building. He clasped his brother on the shoulder, noticing how his face was lined with worry.  

“Let’s hope that she is taking him out there to break up with him, ay?”

Rhys shook his head and sighed, “The bruises were from punching Lucien by the way.”

After Feyre left last night rather abruptly, Rhys told Mor, Azriel and himself the texts that Tamlin had sent. Cassian resisted the urge to pound his thick head in, let a football player meet a rugby player. But alas, Ines voice of  _violence is not the answer_  remained to be a rhetoric that Cassian stood by.

“Poor Vanserra, that’s just not right,” said Cassian as he threw his arm round Rhys’ shoulders and guided him down the hallway.

***

Feyre was ensuring that she stayed at least one metre away from Tamlin as they stood beside a wall of the East building. It was easy to stare at the shitty brickwork, counting the cracks, as Tamlin reeled off his excuse.

“…sometimes, it just is increasingly difficult for me to control my anger. Lucien overstepped the line, he knew he shouldn’t have provoked me.”

“ _No_ ,” Feyre finally looked up at him, “ _You_  stepped over the line. If you lash out at anyone who pisses who off in the slightest you’re going to end up in prison for assault, Tamlin, don’t you get that?”

“I’m trying, I really am.”

It took all of Feyre’s will power to stop herself from raising her voice. She was so tired. “But you’re not though Tamlin. Lucien is right, you need help.”

“I am going to counselling. First appointment is next Thursday. About my mum,” he choked out, as if admitting it was like spitting up acid.

A sigh escaped Feyre’s lips, “And what about your anger?”

Tamlin shook his head, his lips a thin line, “I don’t have anger issues.”

“The fact that you can’t see that Tamlin, seriously worries me.”

“I just need your support, please,” he reached out to touch her but Feyre took a step back. Hurt flashed in Tamlin’s eyes, but Feyre remained strong. Without Lucien here to persuade her, she knew this was the time to end it, break the ties with the suffocating presence that was her boyfriend. It seemed Tamlin could read what was going through her head as he said, “You want to break up with me don’t you.”

She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes at the ground as she said, “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you to be normal again because you have been affected so badly by what happened with your mum that you have changed. Changed so much that I don’t even recognise you anymore.”

She was too slow to move as Tamlin grasped her arms, her wrists before holding her hands to his head, “Please, I’m getting help. I need you Feyre, I love you so much. You can’t leave me now. One final chance.”

It was useless trying to fight the iron grip that Tamlin had on her wrists, but she managed to bring them down between them. He was looking at her so desperately that Feyre felt ill. Counselling is a pretty big step, especially when it is most likely that the death of his mom triggered the out of control anger. If Lucien were here, then he would have given him another chance.

 Eventually, Feyre gave in. “…Okay,” she whispered. The grip on her wrists loosened and was replaced with a hug as Tamlin wrapped his arms around her. She couldn’t shake the tension that wracked her body as he held her. Either he didn’t notice her stiffness or he was ignoring it.

As he pulled away she said in her firmest voice, “Don’t you ever touch Lucien like that again, he has enough of that with his own family.”

For a brief moment Feyre enjoyed the shame that flashed on Tamlin’s face. But he nodded, a new look of determination on his face.

Feyre couldn’t help but feel so weak as Tamlin took her hand and they walked back into school together. He smiled at her hopefully and she smiled back. It was a weak smile. But she doubted he could even tell.

***

 _Athletics after lunch should be a crime_ , Mor thought as she tied the laces of her trainers. She noticed Feyre being the last to arrive and so she waited for her to change before approaching her. After last night, after being told by Rhys what he’d seen on Feyre’s phone and how Tamlin had assaulted Lucien, Mor felt disgusted every time she passed Tamlin in the hallway, every time she heard his name.

“Hey, Feyre,” she smiled and linked her arm through hers as they walked out of the changing rooms.

“Hey,” Feyre attempted a smile back. Up close, she noticed how pale she looked, the dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than usually and she was walking as if every stepped pained her.

“Do you want to skip?” Mor asked, and Feyre looked at her in shock.

“Mor, you’re head girl!”

Mor shrugged, “Yeah, and with that there are perks. Teachers believe anything you say. Come on.”

There was one thing that Mor particularly excelled at. And it wasn’t dancing or history or making speeches, but it was napping. And it was pretty obvious that Feyre was having a bad day.

She dragged Rhys’ crush towards the sports hall, in the opposite direction of the running track. Mor had done this quite a couple of times in the past few weeks when they had athletics. She pulled Feyre into the office of the sports hall, which smelled like old socks but it had bean bags and a sofa, so it sufficed.

Mor gestured elaborately towards the sofa, “Have a nap. Looks like you need it.”

Feyre didn’t even deny it and slumped down on the sofa. She sniffed, “God, this smells awful.”

“You get used to it.”

“How many times have you done this?” Feyre enquired.

“Enough times. I need my beauty sleep,” Mor smiled brilliantly.

Feyre shook her head, but she was smiling too. She could understand why Rhys liked her so much. Feyre Archeron was very easy to talk to, even when she was looking like she was going to collapse from exhaustion at any moment. And there was no denying that even with the tired eyes, ridiculously messy bun and massively oversized t-shirts she was always wearing, she was pretty.

Setting the timer on her phone, Mor slumped into one of the bean bags and closed her eyes, “We have 50 minutes left. Sweet dreams Feyre.”

She heard Feyre rustling on the sofa to get comfortable, but it only took a few minutes until she heard her breathing even out. Mor followed her.

***

“I’m sure sleeping is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing during P.E.” said Cassian as he stood by Rhys at the entrance of the sports hall office.

“Well, what do you expect? If sleeping was a competition, Mor would win it,” replied Rhys. Feyre was completely crashed out, curled up on the sofa. She had never looked younger as she did then with the tiredness and stress erased from her face. She was quite possibly the most beautiful creature Rhys had ever seen.

“Stop creepily gawking at your one true love, Rhys,” Cassian said with a raised brow.

Rhys frowned, “She’s not my- “ Cassian raised a brow as if to say,  _really?_ Rhys sighed but didn’t deny it receiving a sly smile from his brother, “Shut it, Cassian, we need to wake them.”

Feyre woke almost instantly Rhys shook her shoulder but it took Cassian a good few face pokes to arouse Mor from the dead. The latter shot up, slapping Cassian’s hand away and she said whilst checking her phone, “We still had five minutes left you bastards!”

“As Head Girl,” Cassian shook his head mockingly, “you should be ashamed of yourself, exploiting your duties to take a nap.”

His cousin and brother continued to bicker whilst Rhys turned his attention back to Feyre who was now stretching her arms up in a sitting position. He tried, he really damn tried not to look at her breasts straining against the material of her tighter fitting gym shirt but he dared a glance, and for crying out loud he felt like such a horny teenage boy in her presence. Well, in reality he was a horny teenage boy so he supposed that made sense.

“Nice nap?” he asked, shaking his mind off his crush’s breasts and focused on her face, that still was lined in fatigue. She nodded with a yawn and pressed her finger against Rhys’ cheek.

“Nice look at my boobs? You’re all flushed, Spera.”

“I wasn’t-“

“He’s lying,” said Cassian. Rhys sighed defeated, he was very hot all of a sudden. Feyre brought the back of her hand to his cheek and Rhys let her because any point of contact was enjoyable – even if it was at his expense.

“Wow, I’ve never seen you blush Rhys,” Feyre mused and Rhys scowled.

“Trust me,” Cassian interjected, “Rhys blushes every time I catch him staring at your-“ Cassian was abruptly stopped by the shoe that Rhys just threw at his head.  _“_ …wonder woman t-shirt because Rhys has fancied Diana, Princess of the Amazons, since he knew how to masturbate, really.”

Rhys threw his brother a glare that inferred,  _I’m going to bury you._ While Cassian threw him a look back,  _what? I saved your ass._ Feyre looked at him suspiciously, and Mor just looked amused.

“And on  _that_  note,” said Mor, slumping down next to Feyre and Cassian took one of the bean bags. He wanted to enquire about what happened earlier with Tamlin, had she broken up with him? It was a little slither of hope that he grasped onto as Mor started chatting about the party Saturday.

“You’re coming, right Feyre?” she asked.

“Um, I don’t know, haven’t really thought about it. Whose is it anyway?”

“Clare Beddor’s, it’s her birthday. The girl is psycho for inviting the whole of senior year. It’s going to be messy,” chuckled Cassian, Rhys could already see that state of drunkness they were both going to get into.

“When are you legal, Feyre?” Mor asked, tucking her feet underneath her.

 _21 st of December_. Rhys already knew that one. Feyre replied anyway.

“I didn’t think any of you were legal yet,” said Feyre.

“I will be, end of September. Az is mid-October and Rhys is early November - Bonfire Night. While poor Mor has to wait until July. Amren is the only one of our group who is already 18,” Cassian explained, toying with the hole on the bean bag chair.

“That means everyone should buy alcohol for me to make up for the shitty birthday I have,” Mor beamed at them. The bell rang, indicating the start of next period which was history for Rhys but he knew it was Art for Feyre. He hated that he had to wait until his lessons with her to properly speak with her. Lunch she was always with Lucien who also seemed to hate his guts. He guessed it was the time that they kissed in sophomore year and now Lucien was in a period of denial. He  _guessed_  anyway, Rhys doubted that he was a bad kisser.

***

“Wow, Az, that is amazing.” Feyre stood over Azriel’s shoulder, looking at the sketch that was currently a work in progress. It was a picture of a warrior, with wings spread the length of the page that blended into shadows. He had no idea where this idea came from, it felt personal somehow. The teacher hadn’t even arrived yet, so Azriel resorted to his own projects. He normally didn’t like people looking at his work, but Feyre was his art partner, and he had seen a lot of her personal stuff too. So he didn’t mind as she traced her finger along the wing.

The preparations for a new art project was about to start, their teacher announced as she flounced through the door. And it was portraits. Portraits were like the art equivalent of cross-country in P.E. They had 2 weeks to do it, so she advised choosing someone not in this room to prevent time being wasted on one another. There goes Azriel’s scrapped idea for Feyre.

Feyre looked at him sadly for a moment as if she wanted to paint him too. But Azriel already had a back up plan, he wanted to draw his mother. Ines.

As the teacher set them off on brainstorming, Feyre said, “I was hoping to paint you.”

“Likewise, had an idea and all,” he admitted, “Do you like tattoos?” he asked, as the drawing in his head was projected.

“Yeah, I have always secretly wanted a sleeve,” she said to his surprise.

“Another project then,” he said and Feyre smiled in agreement.

Azriel’s alternative plan for Ines was in progress, as he jotted down notes of angles and shading. He looked up, noticing Feyre staring at her piece of tinted paper, her left hand mindlessly turning her pen over and over.

“Artist’s block?” he inquired.

“Yes. I have no idea where to start. Who to paint.”

“…what about your boyfriend?” He asked carefully, he watched Feyre’s face contort for a few seconds in consideration.

“No. I have no ideas what I would do with him. Besides, he would be busy with football training and stuff,” she looked distant as she said it. He gained two valuable pieces of information from that – that Tamlin was still her boyfriend and that she didn’t seem too happy about it.

“What about Vanserra?”

“Lucien? God no, he can’t sit still for two damn seconds. I was actually thinking of Rhys.” Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise, God, his brother would love staring at Feyre for hours as she painted him. Feyre saw the shock in his eyes and said quickly, “Or Mor,” she coughed, “They are both…lively characters.”

Azriel held back his smile as he saw the blush climb up Feyre’s cheeks as he caught her out.

“I’m 100% certain that Rhys will say yes,” he said, returning back to his own work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one word: Rhycien.   
> Yes. I had to slip that in. becos i dont care it is 100% canon


	6. Paint me like one of your French girls

The week was dragging. By the time it was Friday, Feyre had barely caught up on the hours of lost sleep. Lucien had come back into school yesterday, and he aroused some discussion at the still prominent purple bruise that marred his left cheekbone. Apparently, Tamlin had apologised to him personally and things were almost back to normal. But it wasn’t. Tamlin had insisted he miss training to eat lunch with her in Luciens absence since Tuesday, and his presence was pressing down on her like a ton of bricks. The PDA was becoming a bit too much for Feyre, only yesterday did he slam her against the lockers to make out with her which received a considerable amount of wolf whistles from his friends.

This time however, Tamlin was starting to notice how Feyre kept pushing him away. When she tried to release her hands from his, he gripped harder and smiled at her sweetly. Last night they had gotten into an argument when Tamlin came round hers unexpectedly when she was helping her father to bed and she sent him away when he made a move to seduce her.

“I’m not in the mood,” she said as he had cornered her on one of the kitchen counters when she was cleaning up the kitchen. He continued to press kisses to her neck and shoulders anyway, snaking a hand to undo the top of her jeans. She slapped his hand away and that familiar anger behind his eyes sparked to life but somehow he supressed it.

“Not. Tonight,” she said firmly, returning to cleaning up her kitchen, throwing away empty stashes of vodka.

“What is up with you?” he exclaimed, watching over her every move like a damned hawk.

“I  _said_ , I’m not in the mood.”

“We haven’t had sex in ages!” he whined like a child. Fuck, was he always like this?

“We had sex Monday, Tamlin, my god, get over yourself,” she sauntered out of the kitchen and towards the living room to clean up the microwave meal boxes that her father had eaten for the past few days. At least he remembered to eat.

He followed her, watching her throw boxes into a bin bag. “Jesus, Feyre, I’m trying to make it up to you here.”

“Is sex the only way you can make it up to me? How about helping me clean up right now.”

“That’s not my job,” he said and she scoffed. “Just let me help you relax.” He caught hold the bin bag in her hand and threw it to the floor before cornering her to the edge of the sofa.

She pressed her hands into his chest but he took that as a sign to move on her, capturing her lips firmly with his. Feyre’s mind was torn, if she just let him do what he wanted then he could leave quicker, then this fight would be over, then this spark of fear in her chest would die down because his anger would be satiated by sex. But the feminist in her was growling at her to fucking stop him.

He was half way pulling her button up shirt off when she grasped his wrists, “ _No_.” He stopped, shaking his head before leaving the room. She heard the front door slam behind him.

She lay in bed that night, rehearsing ways to break up with him.

Now, she stared at the starter maths questions that were put on the board without Rhys beside her. She wondered where he was, he was rarely ever late. Luckily, maths was one of her strongest subjects, she could understand numbers way better than words, and thus she managed just fine without him. Except on one equation where a 6 looked too much like a 5.

About half way through the lesson, Rhys arrived in his expensive black jeans and a blue button up shirt over his white t-shirt. When she started to notice how nice his arms were, she didn’t know, but his forearms looked super nice with his outer shirt rolled up.

Wait.

Fuck she was thinking about Rhys too much.

He gracefully slid into the seat next to hers, throwing his backpack to the ground, “Did I miss anything?”

“Just Mr Perton’s exceptionally interesting explanation on algebraic formulae.”

“Wow, what a time to be alive.”

In perfect timing, Mr Perton shot them a look from the front of the room. They sniggered.

“Where were you?” Feyre asked, lowering her voice.

He threw her a devilish smile, “Why? Did ya miss me?”

“Actually I was having a grand time without you.”

“Hmm. Doubt it,” he poked her with his pen, already beginning to work on the equations he missed.

She poked at him back, “Hey, answer my question.”

He looked back up at her, “Head Boy duties. Morrigan and I had to welcome this new girl and show her around. She kept stroking my arm and making these strange innuendos. I’m disturbed to be honest.”

“Noted. Keep away from weird innuendo girl.”

Rhys huffed a laugh before turning to her again, “How in the hell did you do this equation?”

She showed him, and she thoroughly enjoyed being better in something than Rhys was. Their hands brushed as she took his pen and showed him, her sometimes incoherent squiggles looking ridiculously messy next to Rhys’ perfectly cursive handwriting. Though he didn’t seem to mind, instead he was smiling at the paper as if she just signed an autograph.

***

“How has he been?” Lucien asked as they sat in library on their free period. The Friday feeling was real, as their work had long been discarded. They sat side by side in their hidden area of the library, and their legs were thrown up on the table.

“On and off,” she replied, admiring how her old black vans were still together.

Lucien sighed through his nose, “He said you had a fight last night.”

“He was… pushing me into having sex with him. I didn’t want to, so he stormed off like a child.”

Lucien remained silent as he felt second hand shame that Tamlin was capable of being such a twat.

She shrugged, “At least he didn’t hit me, to be frank, I thought he would.”

It made him feel sick that this was an expectation now, “Feyre, he wouldn’t.”

“He hit  _you_ ,” she fired back. “Anger and rage blinds people.”

He closed his eyes because he knew she was right. He wondered whether it was worth it, to persuade one bestfriend to stay in a relationship she didn’t want to be in to keep another best friend who was basically a different person.

“Lucien I really can’t do this anymore, I hate how I feel when I’m around him.” He thought about those feelings, unsafe, uncomfortable – feelings that shouldn’t be felt round a boyfriend. He couldn’t push Feyre into staying with him, no matter how much he wished that it could go back to how it had been before.

So he took her hand, and squeezed, “I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

***

“So, lover boy, made any progress?” asked Amren, stuffing her steak sandwich into her mouth, a streak of tomato sauce dripped down her mouth. Morrigan stabbed her pasta with her fork, watching the gloopy carbonara fall back to the plate.

“In due time, Amren dear,” said Rhys.

Amren threw a piece of bread at him, “Never call me dear again, Spera.” She dragged her nail across her throat for emphasis. Rhys mumbled a  _duly noted._

Mor was making her daily lunch hour observations in the canteen. So far, she had noticed Varian undressing Amren with his eyes as he ate his burger in 3 bites while Amren gave him equally disturbing glares, Thesan was holding his boyfriends hand as they ate and Kallias was making out Viviane in the corner. Mor was jealous. Jealous that they could be so openly romantic with another person. No one publicly knew that Mor favoured girls, her true family, particularly Ines, suspected. It was only Cassian that knew for sure, as she confided in him when he came out. She knew if she shouted,  _I’m gay,_  from where she sat now, the news would spread like wildfire and since her parents kept up with their daughter through the school rather than actually asking her, they would find out in a day.

Suddenly, Mor felt someone watching her in the corner of her eye. She dared to look, hoping it wasn’t a creepy stare from one of the guys that always tried to make moves on her. To her surprise, it was a girl that was familiar but she couldn’t put a name on her. The girls hair was silky and long as it fell past her shoulders and her skin was a warm brown. Their eyes locked and she shivered at the intensity of it all. The girl then looked away, pushing her glasses up her nose and returning to her friends conversation.

Now that, that was strange.

***

It was last period, Rhys and Feyre had just presented their points of their project to the class and Mrs Beddor looked too excited about it. Rhys couldn’t help but look at Feyre again as she was watching Mrs Beddor expand on their discussion. Her face had more colour and she looked somewhat lighter, as if a rock had been lifted off the mountain that weigh on her shoulders. Today, her hair was down, and it fell in messy waves past her shoulders. The little writing smudge on her left hand just seemed adorable as she leant her head on her hands. She was wearing a Game of Thrones t-shirt today under a thick woollen cardigan with a little denim skirt and black vans and fuck Rhys was so in love.

He audibly sighed and Feyre turned to look at him suspiciously making him jump  as his elbow slipped off the desk and he almost face planted a table right in front of Feyre. She tried to stifle a laugh as he recovered but it was useless as she snorted,  _actually snorted_ in laughter leading to the rest of the class to turn back towards their table.

“Is everything alright Feyre?” asked Mrs Beddor, as Feyre tried to catch her breath.

Adorable giggles escaped her mouth as she managed to say, “Yes Miss, sorry.”

In that moment, Rhys didn’t care that he just completely embarrassed himself in front of Feyre, instead he savoured the broad smile across her face.

“You can take a picture if you want,” her voice was deepened in attempt to mimic Rhys himself only a couple days before. He elbowed her playfully and shook his head, trying to focus his attention back to the front of the class as Mrs Beddor shot suspicious glances at the back every now and again.

Instead, he leant in to Feyre, bringing his head close to her ear as he whispered, “Please never stop smiling like that.” He willed her to turn her head but she steeled herself to the front. But she shook her head, the smell of oranges and mango shampoo from her hair. He could still see the glimpse of a smile.

By the time Mrs  Beddor finally issued a task, Feyre turned to him, “It would’ve been a shame if the table broke that perfect face.”

Rhys seriously tried not to squeal at the fact that Feyre just called his face perfect. “Indeed, I’m glad that my suffering is so amusing to you.”

“It did just add three years to my life span.”

Trying to retain some of his cool, he leaned back into his chair, watching a pen spin through his fingers. Feyre leaned back too, a question on her lips. She finally said, “I need a model for my art project.”

Rhys’ heart started to pound considerably, he cleared his throat, “I’m available…”

“Great, well-“

“…At a price.”

“You prick.”

“Come round mine, for dinner every Friday until your piece is finished. We’re having pizza.” He wanted to make sure that it didn’t seem like a date, considering Tamlin was still her boyfriend. She considered it for a moment, before agreeing.

“Fine,” she extended her hand, “But I should let you know, this project is only for two weeks.”

Damn it, Rhys should have expected that.  _Come round mine every night. Live with me. We’ll have matching pyjamas._  Yet he still grasped her hand and shook.

***

Friday night dinner was Azriel’s favourite time of the week. They would buy take out, this week it was pizza, and they would sit all together in the comfort of their lounge, squeezing up on the two sofas. This time it was even cosier as Rhys somehow brought Feyre back with them.

Feyre sat between Mor and Rhys again, with Lena squished up beside her biological brother. Lena was asking Feyre all sorts,  _where did you get your skirt from? Is your hair naturally wavy? Do you think pineapple on pizza is a crime?_  Eventually Rhys flicked his little sister on her forehead and she slapped him back, but that was the end of Lena’s 21 questions.

Ines sat between Cassian and himself, doing her best to catch the string of cheese in her mouth.

“Right,” his mother said as she clasped his knee and rose, “What movie should we watch?”

“The new Conjuring movie is on Netflix,” said Cassian nonchalantly, Rhys slowly moved his head towards his brother. If looks could kill.

“I don’t think Feyre likes horror, right Feyre?” said Rhys, a pleading look in his eyes. Feyre cocked her head.

“I love horror, actually, sounds like a great idea.”

Rhys turned his head towards Cassian, mouthing,  _I hate you._

Cassian blew him a kiss.

This was a test in itself. Rhys was petrified of horror movies. He hated them with every fibre of his being. Azriel observed, infinitely amused by the situation.

Ines clapped her hands together, “Alrighty.”

***

Thankfully Feyre had told both Lucien and Tamlin that she was around Mor’s tonight - though Lucien saw right through it. But she trusted him so that was enough.

Rhysand, she realised, was terrified of horror films. She saw right through his façade of squeals concealed as coughing and closing his eyes because  _I’m tired Feyre, pfft not scared._

By the time it was over, she could almost feel the exhale of relief from the body next to her.

The night had been far more enjoyable than she expected. She was secretly envious over Rhys’ family. Her and her sisters never got on very well. Elain and Nesta tended to stick together leaving Feyre the odd one out. It’s how she always felt the natural urge to be independent.

Ines insisted that they put on another film, since the night was still fairly young. To appease Rhys, they put on Love Actually, and Feyre never felt more comfortable in her life. Sitting on the Spera’s sofa squished between two warm bodies in the dark was enough to make Feyre’s eyes start to drift. And before she knew it, she was asleep.

***

 _I’m in heaven,_  thought Rhys, as Feyre was asleep. On his  _shoulder_. He remained perfectly still, resisting the urge to press a kiss to her hair. He could feel her the softness of her breast as she leaned on his arm and he chastised his stupid horny teenage boy mind for drawing his mind to her breasts. Again. Lena was asleep too, soft snores escaping her mouth as her head laid on the armrest. Cassian looked over to him in the dark, the light of the TV illuminating the situation. He gave a sly smile and a thumbs up. As Ines went to a toilet break, he leaned over the rest and whispered, “This is probably the closest to getting laid that you will have in a long time, mate.”

Rhys flipped him the finger, trying not to jolt his body too much in a desperate attempt not to awake the love of his life. As his mother walked back in, she stopped, finally noticing the sleeping Feyre and she looked at him in a proud motherly way, tears lining her eyes.

Suddenly, a phone buzzed and Feyre awoke, looking slightly bewildered for a moment as she took into consideration her pillow.

“Nice nap?” Rhys chuckled awkwardly, referring back to catching her sleeping in the gym office.

Feyre finally chuckled too, albeit a little stiffly. She poked his arm with a yawn, “You may need to drive me home.”

***

As they reached her house, she sighed deeply, falling back into the seat.

“Why did you want to paint me?” asked Rhys, the question was stuck in the back of his mind since the moment he asked her.

She took a moment then shrugged. “I don’t know, Rhys, you’re paintable.”

He smiled. She just told him that he was  _paintable_. That was basically admitting attraction. Right?

“Thank you,” she said abruptly.

“For what?” he asked, feeling his heart flutter.

“For,” she waved her hand in consideration, “for inviting me.”

“Well it is part of our bargain.”

She smiled then, “Right.”

“Right.”

They both stayed sitting, the silence thickening around them. This was the moment, Rhys thought, that a guy would kiss a girl in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie.

“Goodnight Rhys,” she said softly, and she moved her head towards him – he didn’t dare move because maybe this  _was_  the movie scene that he dreamt of.

Her lips grazed his cheek tentatively, he held his breath. It was over too quickly, as one moment her lips were touching his skin and the next she had opened the door to the car and was walking towards her house.  

 _I love you_ , he whispered into the silence of his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lot fluffier than anticipated.


	7. Crappy parties and engagements

The letter that Cassian held in his hand was small. The handwriting was long and elegant, the stamp unrecognizable. He traced his fingers over his name and address. The return address was not there. Without even opening it, he knew the contents. It was nearing his 18th birthday, and soon, he would be able to legally enquire on who his biological parents were. Ines knew very little too, after taking him from foster care at 5 years old. His blood mother and father were so foreign to him. He didn’t even know whether they were both alive, considering the contents of this letter could be sent by anyone.

Rhys knocked on the door to his room, “Dude, do you want to go or not? We need to get on the shots soon.”

Cassian quickly hid the letter beneath his pillow, running his hand through his hair and spraying a final mist of cologne on.

He opened the door, threw his arm round his younger brother and said, “Let’s get this party started.”

***

Feyre ignored Tamlin’s texts. She had been ignoring him for over a day now ever since he slammed the door to her house. Lucien told her to talk to him in person, but Feyre didn’t even want to do that. But to get out of this relationship, she did need to break off in person. An over year long relationship cannot be ended via a single text, Tamlin probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

After only just finishing her shift at the Café, she quickly swiped her god knows how long old mascara on her eyelashes, then applied one of her sisters old lipstick’s that she had stolen when she was 13. God, she wished she was actually at least half decent at makeup. Her sister, Nesta, was perfect at it - never left the house without an Instagram worthy face of makeup on.

Her phone buzzed to announce Lucien’s arrival and she took one last look in the mirror. Basically wearing the same denim skirt and vans she did yesterday, she decided to spice it up with a pink shimmery halter neck crop top. She steeled herself and went to meet Lucien outside after kissing her father on the cheek in goodbye as he watched TV with a glass of wine in hand.

“Aw, you look adorable,” Lucien said as she slid into the passenger seat, he reached out to pinch her cheek but she slapped his hand away while he laughed.

“Are you going to piss me off all night?” she asked. Lucien shook his head with a completely unconvincing grin as he drove off back to where he lived, as Clare Beddor’s house was only a street away.

Even as Lucien parked on his drive, Feyre could already hear the pounding music down the next street.

The September air was becoming chilly, so Lucien put his arm round her shoulder as they walked. Her heart was beginning to pound, the all familiar anxiety built in Feyre’s chest as they approached the mass amount of people pouring into and out of the house. She needed alcohol - quickly.

Lucien pulled her through the crowds of people that littered the giant hallway of the house, already seeing the destination of the kitchen. As they got there, there were less people, and Feyre downed the drink – vodka shot – that Lucien handed to her. They did two more shots together, Feyre coughing uncontrollable on the third as Lucien laughed at her expense.

“Careful now, that’s strong vodka,” said Tarquin, as he sidled up next to them.

“Hey! How’s the swimming going?” asked Feyre, the alcohol already seeping through her body. Tarquin had left high school early after being offered a swimming scholarship, Feyre had been quite friendly with him until Tamlin told him to back off.

“Will be in the next Olympics, so you can guess that it’s going pretty well,” he looked between them, “Are you two…you know.”

Lucien and Feyre looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I’m taking that as a no,” he said draining the rest of his drink. “I will see you guys later, I’m going to watch Helion and Rhys destroy the shit out of Bron and Hart at beer pong.”

***

Rhys was high fiving every hand in sight at the end of the beer pong tournament. He hugged Helion with tears in his eyes, “Reigning champions yet again my friend.”

Helion clasped him on the back before pulling away, holding the tiny plastic trophy between them. “I will place this in our trophy cabinet,” Helion slurred. Cassian approached with three shots in hand, and the three of them toasted to their victory.

After burning their throats with Sambuca, Cassian leaned into his little brother and whispered, “6 o clock, Feyre’s here and she’s looking hot.”

Rhys turned to see Feyre in the lounge with Lucien, they were talking deeply about something. He could bet money that their discussion was orientated around Tamlin, considering he just arrived with his football friends.  _Fuckboy friends_  more like. Rhys’ attention was brought back to Helion as he told them that he was going to pursue a potential threesome, he unbuttoned more buttons on his shirt – he might as well be shirtless – and stalked off to a guy and girl in the corner of the hallway.

Maybe it was the alcohol that was flowing through his veins that made him begin walking towards Feyre and Lucien despite the small protest from Cassian or maybe it was – no it was definitely the alcohol that was giving him the courage to do this right now. Feyre turned to see him approach and damn yep, Cassian was right, she did look hot. Her collar bones were peaking out under her top and he had the strange desire to lick them – yes, Rhys was slightly intoxicated.

“Feyre darling,” he said in greeting throwing an arm around her shoulder and kissing her forehead. Jesus he needed to tone it down. Lucien shot him daggers and Rhys couldn’t help the sharp grin that made its way onto his face.

“Christ, you two, can you not have a pissing contest right here,” Feyre said, removing herself from under his arm and placing it to his now cold and empty side.

Rhys winked at Lucien and his right eye twitched in what seemed to be anger. He felt Feyre tense even though he wasn’t touching her and he followed her line of sight towards Tamlin moving towards them looking sober and ready to throw a punch.

_Shit._

***

Feyre was already moving towards her boyfriend, pressing her hands to his chest. The alcohol had made things slow down a bit, but she managed to bring him to a halt before reaching Rhys and Lucien.

“Why don’t you grab a drink for both of us?” she asked, trying to ease the tension radiating from his body. Surprisingly, he did what she asked, shooting Rhysand a venomous glare before heading to the kitchen.

She heard Rhys whistle in surprise, “Wow, so he does listen to what you say.”

“Fuck off Rhys,” she spat.

He tapped her nose, “Now that wasn’t nice.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here Rhysand, but you’re making things worse,” said Lucien, who no longer looked angry, just resigned and tired.

Rhys sighed, “I’ve been told that a lot.” He looked to Feyre, but she wouldn’t look back. Not while Tamlin was here. “I’ll be off then, see you later, darling.”

He retreated back into the crowd of people, she saw Mor’s golden hair bouncing through the crowd to meet him.

Lucien brought his hand to her shoulder, “I’m going to find Tam, I can’t see him in the kitchen. You coming?”

Feyre looked around for someone to talk to since finding Tamlin was something she didn’t want to do. Tonight, she wanted to avoid him at all costs. Spotting Azriel standing alone, blending in with the wall of the dining room, she said, “No, I’ll be alright. See you later.”

She walked away, trying to squeeze her way through grinding bodies and people almost having sex on couches. Parties were quite disgusting. As she neared Azriel, he noticed her with a tiny smile and a small nod.

“Not drinking?” she asked in greeting.

“No, I’m the driver.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not really, sometimes it’s amusing watching others do stupid drunk stuff,” he pointed out the window, and Feyre saw a group of people trying to do a human pyramid. He then pointed towards the hallway where someone was attempting to a backflip. They both winced as they heard the thud of a body fallen on wooden floors. “See?”

She leaned against the wall next to him, observing the party around them. Her vision was still a bit slow and delayed. Only a few moments later did Cassian turn up, almost tripping over a chair then apologising to it before slumping on the wall next to Feyre.

He handed her his cup, and she took a swig before handing it back to him, coughing violently.

“Fucking hell Cassian, what is in that?”

He brought it to his mouth and drank, “Fuck, I have no idea, tastes like whiskey mixed with peach schnapps and something else…” He shuddered but took another gulp.

“Feyre Archeron,” he mused. Feyre looked at him saying, “What?” as Azriel shook his head in warning.

He started to well up, tears forming in his eyes, “It’s just…he…the love he has…” He cut himself off before pulling Feyre into a bone crushing hug.

“Cassian, you’re squeezing me.”

“That’s the point of a hug, Feyre Archeron. That’s the point of a hug,” he slurred.

“…Cass, can’t breathe right now.” He let go, wiping his eyes before picking up his cup and wandering off, high fiving random people on the way.

“That was…strange,” she said turning back to Azriel.

“He’s an emotional drunk,” said Az.

***

Mor was trying to convince Rhys that challenging Tamlin to a dance off was not a good way to win Feyre’s favour.

“I have six years of ballet under my belt,” said Rhys, “I would love to see a shitty football player face  _moi_.”

She patted her cousin on the shoulder in sympathy. He was looking longingly across the house to where Feyre was standing with Azriel.

“Why does it seem that she hates me, but not you or Az or Cass or even Amren,” he sighed, taking another sip out of his concoction.

“She doesn’t hate you Rhys.”

“Maybe I should ask her.” He started towards her and Mor caught hold of his arm, a warning look in her eyes. She hadn’t drank much, only enough to keep her buzzed, and so she was the voice of reason to Rhys’ drunk one at the moment.

“Morrigan, should you not release me, I will drag you along with me.” And with that he started to move, Mor trying to hold him back but he was unstoppable.  _Fine, you bastard, embarrass yourself._

She gave Azriel a worried look as they neared, and Rhys made a casual attempt to stand by Feyre.

“Do you hate me Feyre Archeron?” he asked nonchalantly.

Mor could tell Feyre was quite drunk in that moment as she grabbed Rhys’ drink and downed the rest of it before saying, “No Rhys, I hate that you wear fancy ass jeans every day. I hate that you call me darling. I hate that you bump your elbow into mine when we’re writing purely to get my attention. But I don’t hate  _you_ , you prick.” She coughed abruptly, “And dear God, I hated what was in that drink.”

Rhys smiled dreamily, “Marry me.”

“Woah-kay,” said Mor, at the same time Feyre slurred, “Maybe.”

Mor didn’t even notice the presence of Lucien Vanserra, who reached between Azriel and herself to grab Feyre by the forearm.

“Jesus, Fey, now is not the time to cuddle up to Rhys Spera.”

She looked towards the kitchen, where Tamlin stood with his friends and the look on his face actually made her fear for Feyre. Azriel noticed it too and they shared a look as Lucien guided Feyre back to her boyfriend.

Suddenly, Azriel grasped Rhys by the chest in attempt to pin him to the wall to stop him from falling. “And that’s enough for you tonight, Rhys,” soothed Azriel.

Clare Beddor approached with a cup of water in hand, “He’s going to need this.”

Mor thanked her as Clare went off to hand out more cups of water for her drunken guests. Poor Clare, it’s supposed to be her party. Azriel ended up gently sitting Rhys against the wall. At least he was conscious.

As Mor gave him the cup, Rhys downed it in a few gulps before saying, “Shit, I nearly pailed.”

“And you just asked Feyre to marry you,” said Azriel, sitting beside him.

Rhys smiled again, “She said maybe.”

Mor looked back to the kitchen to now see Feyre, Lucien and Tamlin gone.

***

“We need to talk, don’t we Feyre?” Tamlin brought his arm around Feyre’s shoulders.

Lucien stopped in front of them, “I’ll come with you.” Tamlin grasped Lucien on the shoulder, in what seemed to be a friendly manner, but she could see his fingers tightening. She didn’t hear the words they exchanged, the noise of the party was growing more deafening.

Tamlin propelled her forward, the hand on her waist was firm as he brought her up the stairs of the Beddor household. The panic rising in Feyre’s chest alone was enough to sober Feyre up a little bit.

“Tamlin, can we not do this now?”

He held her tighter, guiding her to the furthest end of the corridor, “We are doing this now whether you like it or not, Feyre.”

The room they walked into must have been a guest room, as it was untouched apart from few ornaments , a desk and chair and an ensuite on the opposite side. Tamlin let go, closing the door behind him as Feyre retreated from him slowly.

Thankfully, Tamlin stayed where he was, his face was cool but his eyes betrayed him.

“Tell me why you were flirting with a fuck ton of guys tonight, Feyre.”

Feyre’s palms began to sweat as she scoffed in disgust, “Flirting? Jesus Tamlin, I can have male friends.”

“Bron said he saw you getting close with that bastard Cassian.”

“ _Bron_  said,” she shook her head, “Cassian hugged me, in a completely platonic way, get over yourself.”

He took a step closer, “You seemed awfully cosy with Rhysand Spera,” he spat his name like it was sour on his tongue.

“He’s my  _friend_.”

“And I’m your  _boyfriend._ You’re going to stop talking to him, looking at him, fucking him, whatever the fuck you’re doing with him.” He was dangerously close now, and Feyre hadn’t realised she was moving backwards until she hit the chest of draws on the opposite side of the room to her only exit.

 _You’re powerful,_ said Mor. She replayed it like a mantra in her head. “I’m not fucking him, Tamlin. He was assigned to me to help me.”

“Then you will get  _reassigned_ ,” his arms braced against the chest of draws, locking her in. It was becoming harder to breathe now.

“This is over. You cannot control me, Tamlin,” she said shakily, “I’m going to return back downstairs now. And you can’t do anything because you’re no longer my boyfriend. So let me go.”

He leaned in closer, and she could see the wildfire in his green eyes, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked black. “I think I’m the one who decides when this relationship ends. You’re not re-joining the party. You’re coming home with me.”

Feyre felt fire flood her veins. Her panic was overwhelmed by this burning rage. “No,” she spat, “I’m not. I’m not your girlfriend. So I can talk to, flirt with and fuck any guy I want and you’re not going to do anything about it because you’re-“

A sharp pain burst through Feyre’s back as she was shoved into the draws. She couldn’t dwell on it for very long as hands wrapped around her arms and she was being dragged sideways. The next moment she collided with a solid cold wall - no a bath. She fell to the floor, her back aching in pain. The black and white tiles beneath her were icy cold and kept her grounded to reality as she registered what just happened. There was a slam and the realisation hit her hard as she raced to the door, her back protesting, and shook the handle to open it but it wouldn’t – like it was blocked on the otherside.

“Tamlin,” she choked out. She couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol that was clouding her vision or the panic or the tears. Her hand slammed on the door. “Tamlin, let me out!”

Her body was shaking and her mind was racing and oh god she couldn’t breathe why couldn’t she breathe? “ _Tamlin,”_ she almost screamed, his name burned like fire in her throat. There was a sudden movement beyond the door. She could barely hear him over her own sobs.

“I love you. But I don’t trust you,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Tamlin,  _please_.”

“This is for the best. If you’re in here, I won’t get angry, understand?”

“I can’t breathe, Tamlin,  _I can’t breathe.”_

“I’ve got your phone, I will keep it safe, don’t worry.” She heard his footsteps retreating, and she starting pounding frantically on the door. Her hands were slick with sweat and she felt sick – like she was going to throw up –

Feyre emptied the contents of her stomach in the sink, her breathing was ragged. She slumped to the floor, crawling to the door as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. She hadn’t even realised that the bathroom was dark save from the sliver of light from the small window and she grasped the wall for a light to regain some sanity. But it wasn’t there, it must have been on the outside so Feyre slumped back to the floor, her ragged sobs breaking the silence of the room.


	8. Cold showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little bit nsfw

“Where is she?” Mor grasped Lucien’s forearm tightly, it had been at least 20 minutes since she’s last seen Feyre and it had taken her 10 minutes for her Az and Rhys to find Lucien outside sitting in the grass, a bottle swinging in his hand.

Luciens eyes were glazed over, they were devoid of any emotion. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

All four of them turned to the sound of Cassian stumbling down the steps of the house, his eyes lit up as he slurred, “There you guys are!”

Azriel caught up to him before shaking his shoulders, “Cassian, have you seen Feyre?”

Cassian’s eyes sparked in worry as he heard the urgency in his brother’s voice, “No, but I saw the Tool coming down stairs looking all fucking shady and shit.”

Lucien managed to rise, “You didn’t see Feyre coming down with him?”

“No,” Cassian shook his head, catching on to what was happening.

“Upstairs. Now.” Mor ordered, and the five of them rushed back inside, pushing through the crowds of people to reach the stairs which broke off in two separate directions. “Split up.”

Cassian and Azriel went right whilst Mor, Lucien and Rhys took the left corridor. Mor stormed ahead as she heard Lucien and Rhys try the different doors, some opening to naked bodies and screams to get out.

“Who has this many rooms?” She heard Rhys say from behind her. Mor managed to reach the end of the hallway and burst in. It was a guest bedroom, but she instantly noticed the chair that was barraging the ensuite door.

A muffled noise came from the other side and she ripped the chair free, frantically pulling the door open. There was a faint smell of vomit in the air and she turned on the light from the outside. She found Feyre huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed. Mor moved instantly, crouching beside her, “Feyre, it’s Mor. Are you hurt?”

Her head lifted, her eyes were red and blotchy, she seemed to be exhausted by her own panic. “He locked me in here,” her voice was empty and flat. Mor’s heart broke. “He said he didn’t trust me,” she let out a dry laugh.

Mor wrapped her arm round her shoulders, “You’re free now,” she murmured to her friend.

Feyre clung to her, a new batch of ragged sobs coming out. Mor couldn’t help the tears slip from her own eyes, whether they were from sadness or anger, she couldn’t tell.

***

Devastated was a word that Lucien could use to describe his mood right now.

 _We’re just going to talk. Back the fuck off unless you want another black eye._ Tamlin said to him before he walked off with Feyre. This was his fault, he thought. He should’ve insisted that he go with them. Better him being the target of Tamlin’s anger, he was used to it from his family anyway.

He watched as Mor lead Feyre down the corridor, he watched as she talked to her in calming tones. There was a red mark on Feyre’s exposed back, probably from where Tamlin pushed her into the chest of draws as the smashed vase suggested that they found on the floor of the guest bedroom. Cassian and Azriel took one look at Feyre  and Mor down the hall and looked towards each other before going back downstairs. Lucien didn’t even want to stop them if they were going to start something.

Surprisingly, Rhys came up to his side and said, “It’s not your fault. I know you felt like you were the buffer between them.”

Lucien didn’t even deny him. Rhys indicated to his face and said, “You’re a victim in this, too.”

Morrigan and Feyre were whispering in hushed tones, Feyre shaking her head at something until Mor managed to get a nod.

“Why are you not joining Cassian and Azriel in beating the shit out of Tamlin?” asked Lucien.

“Because they’re not going to beat the shit out of Tamlin. We’re not savages, Lucien, we don’t resort to violence. Although I would like to break his face repeatedly, I tend to do it in my imagination - helps me sleep at night.”

***

Sometimes, violence was a resort. But only a tiny bit of violence, thought Azriel as he watched Cassian slam Tamlin against the wall outside Clare Beddor’s house. Even with a lot of alcohol running through his brothers veins, his grip was steel on Tamlins collar.

Azriel said with quiet venom, “You’re to leave Feyre and Lucien alone from this moment onwards.”

It was quite surprising how Tamlin didn’t resist as much. Like he was accepting it. He watched as Tamlin reached into his pocket and retrieved a phone – Feyre’s phone – and handed it to him. Cassian released his collar and stood back.

“Got anything to say for yourself?” Azriel demanded, slipping Feyre’s phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, actually, tell Feyre to keep her legs closed when she’s in a relationship with someone.”

Cassian snorted, “Seriously? How about you refrain from abusing your friends and girlfriends in the future.”

Azriel watched as Tamlin glowered so he started to drag Cassian by the arm away from the situation. “One punch,” pleaded Cassian.

“Maybe next time,” Azriel promised.

***

It was particularly hard watching the girl you dreamed about every night look so empty. She sat between Mor and himself in the back of the black Camaro while Cassian had passed out the moment he sat down in the front. Lucien had walked back home and Mor convinced Feyre to stay the night at theirs. It was silent save from the hum of the engine and Cassian’s heavy breathing.

He couldn’t take it anymore, she was like a shell, completely devoid of any emotion as she sat staring out of Mor’s window.

“Still want to get married?” asked Rhys.  Azriel and Mor shifted.

Slowly, Feyre turned her head back to him, a tiny smile gracing her face. “I said maybe.”

Rhys shrugged, “That basically means yes. So do you want the fancy Vegas wedding or a cute garden one with fairy lights.”

“Fairy lights,” she said, leaning her head back against the rest. His knee brushed hers slightly. “I want puppies to bring the rings.”

“Cassian and Mor can be your bridesmaids.”

Mor snorted loudly, “Please don’t put the picture in my head of Cassian wearing a dress.”

“I would look fucking amazing in a dress,” grumbled Cassian, his eyes still closed.

Laughs erupted through the car, even Feyre.

Eventually Feyre continued their little game, her voice was raspy and her eyes were rimmed with red but he still thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. “Can I wear a black dress?”

Rhys smiled, it was an easy smile. “Anything you want, darling.”

***

Rhys awoke with a start, his bedroom door had opened, to see Feyre illuminated by the moonlight from the landing. She was wearing some of Mor’s pyjamas, from what he could see of them through the darkness anyway.

The door clicked as she closed it behind her.

“Feyre?” He watched as she moved forwards.

She said nothing for a moment before whispering nervously, “I woke up from a nightmare, couldn’t get back to sleep again.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, he felt the weight of her on the mattress as she sat. The light from his alarm clock managed to shed some light on her face, and she looked almost majestic, as if she was part of darkness itself.

“Could be better,” she sighed, leaning further into the mattress. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that this is not her fault, that Tamlin was a mountain on her shoulders and now, perhaps that mountain had been lifted. That she deserved to be treated like a goddess. An equal to himself.

She reached for his hand in the dark and he took it, tethering himself to reality. She started to move again, he realised, and the next thing he knew was that she was crawling up his body, forcing him to lay back in the pillows as she peeled back his duvet and straddled his hips, her orange scented hair and the weight of her on top of him were the only blissful senses he could use.

“Feyre,” he almost groaned. Their noses were almost touching now, her hand was on his face, and he felt her breath fan across his face. He could bathe in this feeling. He dared to touch her bare thighs, running his palms up them, stroking her inner thighs seeking her most sensitive spots. She gasped, Rhys recorded that sound in his head, blood rushing through his veins. He could get off on that sound alone.

His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as she lowered herself onto him and their hips met. He could feel the heat between her legs radiating through their pyjamas and she didn’t seem to be deterred that he was already completely hard because  _this was happening this was happening this was happening._

They weren’t even skin to skin but this was going to be too short as Feyre started grinding, slowly, almost painfully and she was breathing in short gasps into his mouth. Somehow their lips hadn’t touched, but they were breathing each other in in hot heavy breaths.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathed and she pressed herself harder against him in response,  _“_ fuck, _Feyre.”_

His hands were tight on her hips until she brought his hand across her stomach and down underneath her pyjamas and past her underwear and  _fuck fuck fuck_ she was soaked. She let out a breathy gasp and he watched her writhe as he slid his fingers up her slit finding the right spot – there. Her back arched and she moaned without reserve.

Suddenly her hands started wandering, reaching underneath his t-shirt. She trailed her nails down his stomach, his cock twitching at the mix of pleasure and pain and  _fuck_  he couldn’t breathe, this was ecstasy. This was euphoric. This was-

Light.  _No._  It felt so real. Light hit his face from the gap in his curtains ending his dream abruptly. He sat up in a broken sweat, his body strung like a bow. This wasn’t the first time as Rhys venomously swore and stumbled to his bathroom, turning the dial on the shower to freezing. He had wanted her so badly, from the moment in Freshman year when he found out he was assigned to her to help with her dyslexia.

_Rhys was wearing what must have been a ton of bricks in his bag, but no, they were just textbooks. He was supposed to meet this Feyre girl outside the administration office, but the walls were still foreign so he took slow and sure steps. As he rounded the corner towards the office, no one was there._

_He decided to wait a few minutes before asking the receptionist if he had seen her, but he shook his head, saying that this Feyre was reluctant to have a helper and so Rhys took it upon himself to find her._

_It took him what seemed to be a while, he felt like he was going in circles until he noticed a girl, sitting on a bench, her face screwed up in annoyance. Her hair was braided and she was pretty. Really pretty. He wanted to touch her hair to see if it felt as soft as it looked._

_She finally looked up to him, her eyes were a fiery ice blue. This must be her, Rhys thought, as everyone was currently in class._

_“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” Rhys said in greeting, holding out his hand like his father did when he met someone new._

_She looked at his hand in distaste, “I don’t need a helper,” she said defiantly, “I am perfectly capable on my own.”_

_“Is that why you’re sitting here and not in lesson, because you don’t need help?” Rhys pressed, and her face fell._

_She finally stood, they were almost the same height._

_“I don’t want to be talked down upon, you will not give me help. I will only ask for it. Understood?” She looked at him intently and Rhys was just admiring the freckly across her nose so he nodded. She led the way to their classroom, Rhys on her heels. From that moment, Rhys knew that he would follow her anywhere._

_***_

Ines was pouring Feyre a cup of tea. It was unfair really, how Ines looked spectacular wearing a dressing gown with zebra patterned pyjamas underneath and her hair look as if she had just visited a salon. On the other hand, Feyre looked ridiculous wearing Mor’s unicorn pyjamas, her hair was a birds nest and the events of yesterday took a huge toll on the dark shadows under Feyre’s eyes. She felt as bad as she looked.

It was about 6:00am when Feyre woke up feeling a little too hungover and couldn’t go back to sleep again. She ended up sneaking out of her guest bedroom, which was twice the size of her own room, to go down stairs, maybe sit outside and text her father that she was fine and had just slept round her friends. But as she descended downstairs, Ines was sat at the table reading yesterdays newspaper, a cup of tea in hand.

“Are you an early riser too?” Ines asked, and Feyre felt suddenly awkward as she stood at the entrance of the kitchen, in front of Rhys’ mother in unicorn pyjamas.

“I… just couldn’t get back to sleep,” Feyre attempted a smile and it seemed Ines saw right through it. She gestured to the seat opposite her, “Sit my dear.”

Feyre did, pulling it out with a too loud screech and she winced.

Ines laughed, “It’s okay, my kids sleep like the dead.”

This is the moment where Ines poured her a cup of tea from the little tea set in front and passed it Feyre over the table and she thanked her.

“So, you’ve been in well acquaintance with my kids since the start of high school, right?” Her voice was soothing, maternal, as if she could ask any question and it would lull you to spill the truth.

“Yes, I’ve been in at least one class with all of them,” said Feyre. Ines smiled a little, and Feyre observed how beautiful she was, even at 6 o clock in the morning. Her skin was a shade or two darker than Lena’s and Rhys’, her eyes a deep brown. The sets of her face only showed very small hints of any aging, she was glowing.

“Rhys is particularly fond of you, he talks about you a lot,” admitted Ines, “Don’t tell him I said that because he would kill me.”

Feyre’s eyebrows raised in shock, “He does? Talk about me, I mean.”

She chuckled, “Bits and pieces, mostly about his lessons with you. But considering you’re the only girl he talks about… I’ve said too much, let’s talk about you. How are you?”

Feyre struggled to register what Ines just said, but she didn’t have time, as she answered truthfully on her ‘fineness’. “I feel…tired. But now I just feel relief. I’m guessing at least one of them told you about what happened.”

She nodded, “Azriel told me. It’s okay if you don’t want to speak about it.” Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but  _she didn’t want to speak about it._  She wanted to have a break from speaking from Tamlin, she was mentally exhausted by the whole ordeal.

To Feyre’s surprise, Ines leaned forward and took Feyre’s hand in hers. “I will tell you a story,” she said. Feyre abandoned her tea. “Before Rhys’ father, when I was 19, I met a man who was 24. He was everything I could have dreamed of, charming, smart, loving and kind. He already had a stable job in an international business firm so he was able to spoil me with gifts and he proposed to me in the next year. We even bought a house.” Ines stopped in thought, but continued, “A year later, still in University, I told him that I was pregnant and I still remember the look on his face. He looked…disappointed almost. The next few weeks with him were unbearable, he was possessive, territorial and suffocating, he claimed he was trying to look out for me because he loved me. And I believed him. He even wouldn’t let me see my brother because he didn’t want me speaking to any men whatsoever.” She squeezed Feyre’s hand hard, “One week he would be back to normal, the next he would be this…monster. One day, I must have been about 5 months pregnant, he locked me in our house, he told me it was better this way because then he wouldn’t have to worry about me getting hurt. The very next day, I left him.”

She sighed deeply, her eyes were starting to line with tears and Feyre placed her other hand over Ines’. Ines continued, her voice strong, “I only had two weeks of freedom before he found me again in my mother’s house, he beat me senseless, leaving me for mother to find  at the bottom of the stairs when she returned home. I had 3 fractured ribs, a broken nose, a broken arm…” A stray tear spilled down her face, “On that day, he killed my child too.”

Feyre swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know what it’s like, Feyre, to feel like the relationship you’re in is cage of sorts. To hear the excuses, like  _I will get better,_   _I will change_ and believe them because you always want to believe them even though you don’t feel that way. Because you feel like chances are the best thing to give someone – the benefit of the doubt.”

It was strange, to relate to someone so much, to have experienced parallels of a toxic relationship. But Ines had lost so much more than a relationship.

Their hands withdrew as they heard footsteps down the stairs, but Feyre hoped her eyes would express her gratitude towards Ines. She nodded with a sad smile.

“You’re up early,” smiled Ines at her son. Rhys gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling bread out of a cupboard and loading them into the toaster. His hair was wet from a shower and he was wearing comfortable jogging bottoms with a cotton tee-shirt. She’d never seen him like this.

“Want some toast Feyre, mum? Cereal? Waffles?” He said without looking at her. He hadn’t looked at her once since he had come down to the kitchen. Strange.

Ines and Feyre both accepted the offer of toast, while they resumed their tea.

“You can take Feyre home today, can’t you Rhys?” said Ines as he sat down beside his mother, toast, jam and butter now laid on the table.

“Yup,” said Rhys around a mouthful. He still was making an effort not to look at her, and when he did, he looked away quickly, turning the conversation to his mother.

Now this was very un-Rhys like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does end abruptly ik but i was rushing to get this chapter out before i went on hols   
>  xxx


	9. Well needed hugs

There were two reasons why Rhysand was wallowing in his own self-loathing that morning and the first one was the usual longing he felt when Feyre was in his presence yet he could do nothing about it. The second one was the more important reason – he was the one that let this happen. He let Tamlin hurt Feyre because his friends were trying to focus on his drunk self. The self-loathing increased monumentally when he slid into his car, ready to take Feyre home and she said, “Is there a reason why you’re refusing to look at me?”

Rhys whipped his head up from the steering wheel, from where he was putting the key in the ignition. “I’m not-“

“Oh please, you avoided eye contact at every possible occasion. Are you mad at me?”

Rhys’ eyes widened as he realised how his behaviour might have come across to her that morning, he instantly felt ashamed. But what could he tell her, as she sat there in some of Mor’s leggings and Cassian’s old rugby shirt from when he was 13 that his cousin had stolen a year ago. He couldn’t possibly tell her that the real reason why he was making every effort to avoid eye contact was because he felt disgusted at himself for letting Tamlin hurt Feyre and then having exceptionally inappropriate dreams about her.

_I’m not mad at you Feyre Archeron, how could I? I’m hopelessly in love with every fibre of your being but you can’t know because you’ve just got out of a shitty relationship and maybe you need space and don’t even want another relationship. I can’t possibly tell you that I avoided eye contact with you this morning because I’m ashamed that I did nothing to prevent anything last night and even if I did look at you, I would melt into a puddle thinking about you touching me and I touching you. Just us. Together._

He must have spent way too long imagining what he wanted to say and he didn’t really register what facial expression he must have displayed as Feyre was now looking borderline angry and hurt. Before he could even make up an excuse she turned away back in her seat to look out the window.

“Feyre, hey, listen to me. I’m not mad at you-“

“You think I’m pathetic don’t you?” she interrupted; she continued to look out of the window, her voice returning to that empty void. “I stayed with a toxic boyfriend even though I knew he might hurt me and you’re mad at me for being so  _weak_  and  _pathetic_  and-“

“Fuck no! Feyre – Christ,” he threw his head back against the head rest trying to verbalise his words quick enough, “Listen, I’m not mad at you.  _Especially_  not over this. I’m furious at Tamlin, including myself, not you. I’m pissed at this whole situation because you were hurt and I should have been able to stop it if I weren’t so  _drunk._  I mean,” he shook his head, grasping at words, “He locked you in a god damned bathroom, he scared you and he hurt you and he…” he took a deep breath, “You’re not pathetic or weak or whatever else you were going to say. You’re strong and capable and I admire you more than anyone else on this god forsaken earth.”

The car fell silent. Rhys’ hands flexed on the steering wheel, he kept his eyes trained on her. She bit her lip, her eyes still trained on god knows what was outside the window.

“Can you just take me home please?” she said quietly. Rhys closed his eyes for a moment because maybe what he said was too revealing of his feelings.

The air was thick with tension, unspoken words lingered on tightly closed lips.

Rhys hated himself in that moment because he was adding to the grief of last night. He was making it worse for her. He couldn’t even comprehend how she was feeling.

Before she got out the car as they arrived at her house, she said, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t blame yourself for not intervening. The only one to blame here is Tamlin,” she said it with such force that it seemed like she was trying to convince herself too, like she herself had mentally rehearsed this over and over to ingrain that Tamlin was the only one at fault here.

She was out the door before he could even protest and his legs were moving before his head was actually thinking. He stopped her at the end of her drive unsure of what to say before he decided to gently take her arms and pull her towards him. She looked at him with confusion alight in her eyes but she didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around her. To Rhys’ surprise, she melted against him.

“Thought you might need a hug,” murmured Rhys into her hair. She made some sort of muffled noise that may have been agreement, but Rhys was savouring the way she felt against him, the way it felt to wrap his arms around her.

It could have been 10 seconds or 5 minutes, Rhys didn’t know, when they pulled away. Feyre took a step back.

“If you don’t want to be alone today, we are having  Sunday Dinner round ours?” he suggested hopefully.

She looked torn, “I have to stay with my dad today, I’ve been kind of abandoning him recently.” She smiled weakly. It was laced with shame.

Rhys knew about how Feyre’s father was a veteran whose leg had to be amputated. He remembered how devastated she was when it happened in early Freshman year. The three Archeron sisters were the talk of the school and town as her father was labelled a hero in all the papers. He wondered how her father was coping.

“Okay, well, maybe another time?”

“Okay,” she said.

***

 _French._ That was it. Morrigan recognised cute glasses girl from French. She must have been new to this year, because Mor would have known if she was a member of the school any longer. She thought these things as she bounced into class, flashing her teacher a perfect smile and approached cute glasses girl as she was taking her pencil case out of her backpack. The girl looked up at Morrigan and swallowed thickly.

“Hello,” Mor said.

“Hi,” the girl said, looking up at her from her sitting position. Mor noticed her nervousness instantly and decided to sit down to reduce the perhaps intimidating picture of Head Girl standing over her.

“I was wondering whether you wanted a new French partner.” Her teacher raised an eyebrow at her of which Mor replied with a persuasive smile. The teacher rolled their eyes but nodded all the same.

The girl stuttered out a  _sure,_  which was the moment where Mor noticed the slight hint of an accent. In any other situation of flirtation Mor would make greater use of cheekiness and slight touches, but she could tell that with this girl, it might be more effective if she took a different approach. And it kind of threw Mor off course.

So instead of throwing out a handshake, she simply said, “I’m Morrigan.”

“Morrigan,” she repeated, her accent jilting the word in a way that was incredibly endearing. “I’m Andromache.”

***

Lucien wasn’t answering his damn phone. He wasn’t answering to Feyre’s texts either and he hadn’t turned up for tutor, first or second lesson according to Clare. Quite frankly, she was worried. Feyre was dreading the day ahead, she had yet to see Tamlin since the incident and she was missing a best friend. She tried to calm the panic that was already running through her body, her palms sweating at the thought of seeing Tamlin – particularly alone.

She kept close to the walls as she walked to the library, on her way to spend a break time alone. That was until Cassian caught up to her side.

“Feyre! Hey, was just wondering whether everything is all good in the hood.”

“What did you just say?”

Cassian shrugged, “Translation: how are you?”

Feyre considered the question because she didn’t really know. She hadn’t been feeling much of anything recently. The most familiar emotions to her now were panic and tiredness. It only made her  _more_ tired.

“…Okay considering it’s been at least ten seconds and no reply, I’m taking that as a no.”

She rolled her eyes. Cassian winked at her and it reminded her of Rhys so painfully that she almost always forgot that they were brothers.

“Seriously,” he said, “I’m always here if you need me. Where’s fox boy?”

Feyre smiled at the nickname, “he would kill you if he heard you say that.”

“I’d like to see him try,” he grinned but it faded quickly, “But really, where is he?”

Cassian led them down the hallway, in the opposite direction from the library. Feyre stayed with him because at least Cassian was a friend who she trusted. And if she saw Tamlin with Cassian by her side, then she wouldn’t break down into a panic attack as quickly as she would if she were alone.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with unease.

“Well then,” he said, throwing an arm round her shoulder, “Guess you will be spending break and lunch with us then.”

***

Feyre never ate in the canteen, it was too loud with the bustle of high school gossip and conversation. It was an area her and Lucien had agreed to avoid. It was particularly nerve wracking entering the canteen to join the dream team’s allocated table near the corner with numerous eyes turning to stare.

Whispers crawled up her spine.

_Tamlin broke up with her apparently._

_Yeah, I heard that she was cheating with Rhys Spera and Lucien Vanserra, what a slag._

_She left Clare’s party crying like a little bitch._

“For crying out loud, Stacey, could you be any more of an insolent gossip,” said Mor as she reached Feyre’s other side. “The amount of crap that comes out of your mouth is a testament to how much crap goes in your ears, babe.”

Sniggers sounded through the room as Stacey Sawman sat back in her seat, evident upset on her face that she just got called out by the Head Girl. Mor looked around the canteen, shooting sweet smiles laced with a threat towards anyone who looked strangely towards us.

From that moment on, Feyre wanted more than anything to be Mor’s best friend.

They sat down at the table, Cassian and Mor remaining on both sides of her as Azriel and Amren greeted her with Azriel’s slight smile and Amren’s cool nod of the head.

“Where’s Rhys?” asked Feyre, which received slight smiles from everyone round the table. She couldn’t guess the meaning. As if on cue, Rhysand Spera sauntered through the canteen in his stupid jeans as if the greasy floor was a catwalk.

“Damn drama queen,” muttered Cassian as Rhys sat down at their table.

“The world is my stage, dear brother,” said Rhys before acknowledging Feyre with a raised brow, “No fox boy today?”

Feyre shook her head with amusement, “Do you all call him that?”

The table erupted in a chorus of exceptionally unconvincing  _nooo’s_ that made Feyre have to stifle a laugh. The group whipped out bags of crisps and snacks to last themselves until lunch. Feyre shared a packet of chocolate fingers with Mor.

Today, Mor seemed distracted, she kept looking in the direction of the other corner of the canteen. Only sly glances, but Feyre noticed every single one of them. She finally caught her line of sight to either a girl with blue streaks in her hair or a girl with dark hair. She recognised them both.

“Have you met Andromache?” asked Feyre, making a stab in the dark at whom the target of Mor’s observations were.

Mor looked up at her quickly, “How did you know I was looking at her?”

Feyre shrugged, “You weren’t exactly subtle about it Mor.” Andromache was in her German class, the girl could speak like 8 languages. Feyre recalled that she was from Greece, had lived here for two years and was super quiet. She was nice.

Mor waved her off, downing some water. Now that was the universal excuse for,  _drop the subject._

“Are you going to grace your presence every day like this now, Feyre?” Rhys asked. He rolled her name on his tongue like an expert, like he enjoyed it every time he said it.  _Fey-ruuh._  She hated to admit it but she liked it considerably.

“Maybe, on one condition,” she said. Rhys grinned like a cat. “You cannot wear any item of clothing over £40 for a whole week.”

The table erupted in audible  _ooo’s_ , Cassian roared with laughter.  “You won’t get my brother out of his stupid ass jeans.”

“Hey, they’re Ralph Lauren!” protested Rhys. He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. Feyre narrowed her eyes back. He extended his hand over the table, “If I do that then you will sit with us for a week – Fox Boy can come if he wants too.”

Feyre highly doubted that Lucien would ever want to do such a thing, but for some reason, she did. She liked how comfortable she was becoming around them.

She shook her hand with Rhys’, “It’s a bargain.”

***

Somehow, Rhys came in the next day wearing  _unbranded_  clothing. He wore no fancy watch or jeans, instead he actually wore black tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt from a cheap brand that he evidently bought from a shop last night.  _Dedication,_ Feyre thought as Rhys joined her in maths.

“Tell me something good today, Feyre Archeron,” he said.  _Your arms,_ thought Feyre as she tried not to ogle at them in that white t-shirt as he crossed his arms. He would never let her live it down.

“Lucien’s back in school,” she replied instead. She couldn’t express more her worry for Lucien last night when he finally texted her back saying he got into a fight with his family that led him to lock himself in his room again. Her thoughts immediately turned to the worse, that his brothers or his father had hurt him again but he reassured her that it was the usual shouting, throwing glasses and slamming of doors.  _They didn’t touch me,_  he said. She wasn’t convinced. She wished she could do something for her best friend, but he remained adamant that he could handle this alone. Always alone.

“Hmmm, not as exciting as I hoped for,” he sighed mockingly.

“Pray, do tell what you were expecting me to say.”

“That it won’t rain today, that we have decided on what cake we’re having for our wedding, that the pervy caretaker has been fired, etc etc.”

“The forecast is clear. The cake? Already taken care of, Victoria Sponge, it’s indisputable. And the caretaker has taken leave to go on holiday,” reeled off Feyre as the class settled to begin. She felt Rhys’ smile burn through the side of her head.

The lesson ended quicker than anticipated, and they walked together towards the canteen as Feyre texted Lucien to meet her there. She felt gazes swing towards them as they walked - Rhys was completely unaware, continuing to talk about his new book. There was an abundance of giggles nearby and that’s when she heard the murmurs of girls discussing Rhys’… backside?

To see what all the fuss was about, she let herself fall a slight fraction slower to glimpse a look at Rhysand Spera’s bum and…  _yep_. She understood now.

“Enjoying the view, Feyre darling?” he had stopped now and was looking at her with a feline smile and a wicked glint in his eye.

Feyre snorted. “You seem to have caught a lot of admirers today, I was simply trying to understand the hype.”

Rhys was undoubtedly about to retort something positively inappropriate for the school environment as he leant in closer to her but she saw a glimpse of red hair in the corner of her eye and Lucien’s presence quickly dissolved any further discussion on Rhys’ backside. Feyre was annoyed at her own disappointment.

“The library, Fey?” Lucien asked in greeting, he did not look at her however and decided to shoot Rhys some daggers as he said it.

Feyre had yet to inform Lucien on her bargain with Rhys and thus she winced. Rhys noticed and winked.  “Actually, Feyre will be coming to sit with us during break hours for the rest of the week, you’re welcome too, Vanserra.”

Lucien scoffed, “Why in the name of Gods and Cauldrons would Feyre be sitting with you? And why would  _I_  choose to do so too?”

Feyre never really understood the intense dislike Lucien held for the dream team. Perhaps it was Tamlin’s influence or there may have been previous bad blood that Lucien had refrained from telling her.

“Because Lucien, I made a deal with Rhys and now I have to sit with them at lunch and break for a week,” said Feyre, trying to pass it off as something that Lucien would not be annoyed at.

“And don’t forget about the bargain about going to mine on Friday, darling, we need to do your art project.”

Lucien was looking at Feyre weirdly while Rhys stood with his hands in his pockets with an easy yet infuriating smile on his face. This was getting a tad too awkward, so Feyre took matters into her own hands and started steering Lucien a few feet away while Rhys watched, his head cocked in amusement.

***

Lucien was confused. And annoyed. Annoyed that Feyre was making strange bargains with the Head Boy and spending more time with the ridiculous dream team. As she pulled him away, he thought about what it would be like now. Him, Tamlin and Feyre were over. He thought about how he was so worried that if Tamlin and Feyre broke up then he would be split in two, but it seemed like now he should be worried about being left completely alone. He had yet to see Tamlin, but it was evident that Feyre was already on her way in finding a new secure base of friends and was happy to leave him behind.

“Just come sit with us Lucien, they are not that bad,” pleaded Feyre, her voice was lowered to prevent the prying ears of Rhys Spera who was doing his best to act casual on the other side of the hallway.

Lucien shook his head. What was she doing? It hurt that he felt completely distraught that he had lost his childhood bestfriend but she didn’t seem bothered at all about what happened Saturday night. And now she was happy to move on rather quickly to a new set of friends.

“What about Tamlin?” he blurted out.

Her face contorted into something like anger, annoyance, sadness. A mixture of all the above. It was probably a bad call to bring that up.

“Tamlin is out of the equation now  _Lucien,_ if you so fucking recall,” she spat out. She took a deep breathe to calm herself. He immediately regretted bringing it up at all. But it still frustrated him how she was so quick to move on.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant how are you even coping? You seem completely unaffected by the whole ordeal. Like Tamlin is just a slither of history that you are trying to forget.”

“So what if I am trying to forget? To ignore it? Why shouldn’t I? He locked me in a damned bathroom Lucien intending to leave me there for god knows how long because he claimed I was the root cause of his anger. That it was somehow my fault. All while accusing me of cheating and telling me that he loved me.” Tears began to shine in her eyes now. “So don’t you dare tell me how to deal with this, because our relationship was over from the moment he barricaded me into a bathroom.”

Lucien was supposed to feel ashamed in that moment, but he wasn’t. Instead he felt like an empty void of hollowness. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Even if they broke up, it was still supposed to be Lucien and Feyre.

“Okay,” he said. “Go sit with your new friends.” Lucien could not describe the intense dislike he held for the Spera’s. They appeared caring and loveable but in reality they were ruthless, Rhys’ father was a testament to that.

“Is that it, Lucien? Seriously? What are you going to do?”

He didn’t know what he was going to do. But if Feyre was going off with the Spera’s then Lucien had no choice but to try and return back to Tamlin and help him. No matter what Tamlin had done, he still felt obliged to help him. Especially after all the years Tamlin had been the source of Lucien’s support system.

“I’m going to find Bron and Hart, I’ll be fine. Have fun,” he lied, and he walked away from Feyre without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I haven't updated in forever on here, I've been settling into Uni.  
> Part 17 will be up 22/09 on my tumblr!


	10. A helping hand

Somehow, Feyre had managed to avoid any confrontation with Tamlin until Friday that week. Indeed, they saw each other, but Feyre was quick to look away, Mor was quick to steer her away or Cassian was quick at shielding Tamlin from her line of sight.

On Friday, however, Feyre did not look away as she saw Tamlin walk with his arm around Lucien’s shoulder, laughing like old friends. Lucien had yet to talk to her since he walked away. She texted him about meeting up but he made up excuses that he had to study or he had another fight with his family. This was probably what he was doing all week – restoring his friendship with Tamlin in spite of everything that Tamlin had done to the both of them. That  _hurt_. And she wanted to know why.

Alone, she approached them, her eyes dead set on her best friend in attempt to give her some confidence if she would just ignore Tamlin’s existence. Her heart began to pound in familiar panic.

She noticed them both stop before her, and she met Lucien’s eyes. He looked…apologetic, uncomfortable yet determined. She kept her eyes to Lucien’s as she said, “You didn’t answer my text.”

He opened his mouth, “I-I was busy. Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “I couldn’t meet up last night, I had a chemistry exam this morning.”

Feyre nodded. She didn’t understand. It was as if there was a switch that Feyre had pressed during their fight on Tuesday that had created this atmosphere of awkwardness between them. 

Lucien shifted.

“Do you want to talk at any point today? We have our free, third period?” she asked, she still didn’t quite understand how she was completely ignoring the presence of Tamlin, how he remained quiet during this interaction. Tamlin may as well have been invisible.

Lucien looked to Tamlin then, and she regrettably followed his look. It was as if Lucien was seeking Tamlin’s approval and Tamlin looked to Lucien with a raised eyebrow.

“Actually, I’m going to start working on my own in free periods. You know, distractions and all with mocks coming up and coursework and all that,” he said eventually. He may as well have punched Feyre in the heart because she finally understood what was going on here. In return of Tamlin’s favour, he was most likely cutting all ties with Feyre.  _Why why why why why_

The tension was becoming palpable now. And Feyre wanted nothing more to get out of this situation before Tamlin ended up opening his mouth.

So she said, “Okay, well, I will see you around.” She brushed past them. She counted her footsteps as she rushed forward, swallowing the lump in the back of her throat because she would not cry.  _She would not cry she would not cry._

Did she just lose her best friend? Just like that?

A hand grasped her arm, it was a small hand and she let it lead her outside as her vision was blurred with unshed tears.

“Pull yourself together, girl,” said the familiar voice of Amren. The autumn air brushed Feyre’s cheeks and she pulled her cardigan closer around her. The tears were left unshed as her vision returned back to normal. Amren’s face appeared in front of her, her eyes were hard as always and her lips were set into a thin line.

“Thank you,” Feyre said.

“Don’t thank me,” Amren placed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “I always knew Fox Boy was weak.” She retrieved some chewing gum, offering it to Feyre –she took it – and poised herself on the wall next to her.

“I don’t understand…” admitted Feyre. 

“Lucien is easily influenced. He has had no solid guiding hand in his life. He is also a male, they tend to have weak inner compasses,” she said casually, blowing a bubble.  “I’ve always liked you Feyre, although you remain a bit oblivious to the obvious sometimes, but you need to understand that friendships don’t always last, no matter how much you want them to.”

Perfectly candid, as always. But Feyre was grateful, even if Amren did just call her naïve.

“Anyway, let’s get lunch. I’m starving,” Amren said, pushing off the wall. Amren gave her a sharp smile, her red lipstick perfectly intact. “Just let me know if you need me to beat anyone up. I have a taste for blood.”

***

It was as if Lucien was sitting two years back in time, when it was just him and Tamlin. Although, the rest of the football squad were dotted around them as they sat in the stands picking at their lunch. Tamlin had abandoned his football friends to actually sit with Lucien, and it was strange.

“How was your first counselling session?” Lucien asked, his voice low to avoid the prying ears of rowdy football players.

Tamlin tensed slightly. “Good, my counsellor is called Ianthe, she’s nice.”

“Did you talk about your mum?” Lucien knew he was treading on thin ice, but he wanted his friend to trust him again.

Tamlin hesitated, “Yeah, a bit. We mostly talked about Feyre though.”

This was a slight surprise. “Feyre? Why Feyre?” At the sound of her name, Lucien felt a sharp pang of hurt.

“Because she asked me what was on my mind at the moment. And it was Feyre.”

“…Did you tell her about what happened Saturday?” he asked cautiously.

Tamlin looked utterly devoid of any emotion as he said, “Nothing happened Saturday. We got into a fight, we broke up. I told Ianthe how she had been cheating on me and stuff like that.” Lucien bit his tongue. “Then I told her how despite all that, I still want to be with her.”

Lucien tried not to think about how delusional he sounded. He was still in the early stages of counselling. Of course he wouldn’t be back to normal after one session.

He told himself this because he thought about Feyre, then. About how Feyre was not prepared to help Tamlin at all, and if she wouldn’t, then Lucien would. He tried not to think about how he missed her.

No, he tried not to think about that at all.

***

 “Rhys, for Cauldrons sake, sit still.”

“I’m just making sure that you will be capturing the perfect angle,” Rhys said as he shifted on the chair. The light of off the afternoon window was making his bronzed skin glow a deeper shade of olive brown. He was quite frankly mesmerising, and Feyre was grateful that this painting gave her the perfect excuse to study him in detail.

“Jeez, if I knew you were going to be this difficult I would have chosen Mor.” Feyre finished her pencil outline on the small canvas, she looked to Rhys again to find him shifting even more. “ _Rhys.”_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he returned to stillness and Feyre had to move forward to tilt his jaw slightly, she noticed his adams apple bob at her touch.

He was quiet for the next ten minutes, allowing Feyre to begin painting the basic undertones, until he asked, “Are you sure that it just has to be the face? When can you do nude portraits?”

She rolled her eyes, he just smiled cheekily. “That isn’t until University, the human anatomy is exceptionally difficult to draw, especially paint.”

He clicked his tongue, “Pity.”

Currently, the pair was situated in the Archeron household, in Feyre’s room to be specific which she was grateful that she tidied a little last night. They had decided to paint in Feyre’s house where her supplies were, where they would then fulfil Rhys’ part of the bargain and she would spend Friday night round the Spera household. Her father was at a Veteran gathering for fellow amputees, and thus she felt a little less guilty for leaving him yet again at the weekend.

She noticed Rhys’ fleeting glances around her room, from the bare floor boards to the painted night sky on the ceiling and the tops of the walls. The revision notes of physics that dotted around her room. Her single bed that was squished in the corner was piled with pillows and blankets to compensate for the dodgy heating in winter. Instead of Rhys’ immaculate desk, hers was covered in paper and homework of all subjects, a thrown bralette hung over the edge. She noticed that his eyes were drawn to a photograph that was slotted as a book mark in her edition of the Handmaids Tale. She could see her mother and Nesta’s head poking out.

Rhys opened his mouth to say something but closed it. Feyre knew however, what he was going to say.

“I haven’t seen my mum for four years,” she said, reaching for her palette.

She felt Rhys’ gaze on her, as if he was prompting her to continue – only if she wanted to.

“After my dad lost his leg in Syria, you may remember the local news on it, she couldn’t cope with his PTSD, his turn to alcohol. She claimed that she didn’t ask for this, that she didn’t marry an amputee.” Feyre swallowed, mixing the paint with greater intensity, watching how her hatred for her mother transcended into something as mundane as mixing paint. “So she left, and found another guy within 3 months.”

She could tell Rhys was choosing his words carefully, “So, you said you haven’t seen her, but you’ve heard from her?”

“Yeah, maybe once or twice every year, mostly through my sisters forcing me to call her. I’ve always taken my dad’s side, while my sisters have taken my mothers, claiming that she had the right to leave. They keep in touch with her all the time. They barely keep in touch with me or my dad anymore.” Feyre put her paints down and leant against the desk, abandoning the work to Rhys’ neck. She didn’t quite understand why she was telling Rhys this, but she felt it pouring out, like he had opened a gate that had been closed for a long time.

***

“Do you miss her?” Rhys asked reluctantly.

Feyre shed a huff of a little smile as she stared at the corner of the floorboard. “I think I miss having a mother, but I don’t miss _her_  in particular. My mother and I never got on. I was always the problem child. I was only diagnosed with my dyslexia when I was 12 so she thought I was an invalid for a lot of my life. She never took me to family parties because I always ended up getting dirty somehow so she only took Nesta and Elain. She once left me at a supermarket because she ‘forgot’.”

Rhys struggled to imagine what life would be like with a mother like that. Even though his father was a ruthless man, he still showed his affection from time to time. His own mother was his rock, his confidant and his friend and he loved her more than anything. He felt a pang of sympathy for Feyre that she never had that. He also felt slightly angry.

“Did your father not stand up for you?” he asked.

Feyre shook her head, “My father was so madly in love with my mum that he would do anything she would. It is why he was devastated when my mum left. I always preferred him as a parent but even then, my dad favoured my sister Elain, not me.” She turned to him then, a sad smile on her face. “Sorry to turn this into a sob story about my shitty childhood.” She picked up her palette again.

“You never deserved any of that, Feyre, you know that don’t you?” he said softly. She continued to resume painting, but he could tell she was still listening. “You can join my family if you want.”

He was serious, but Feyre let out a small laugh. “Oh Rhys, you don’t mean that.”

“My mum loves you already, my sister wants to be you and you already know that Mor, Cass and Az think the world of you. Even Amren likes you, and it’s hard to get Amren to like people.”

She lowered her paints and looked at him, she had a brown smudge on her cheek and her hair was a mess and she looked positively perfect. The floorboards creaked slightly as she stepped towards him while he remained rooted to her ridiculously uncomfortable desk chair. She sat on the windowsill, pulling her legs up and folding her arms around them, maybe a foot away from him. The painting was undoubtedly forgotten.

“What do  _you_  think of me then, Rhys?”

“I-“ He cut himself off, what possibly could he say that wouldn’t be completely utterly indicative of his burning desire for her? She looked at him expectantly, her head was leaning on her knees, the sun was bouncing off her hair and she was shining. Glowing, even. “You’re one of my closest friends,” he said eventually swallowing thousands of words he wanted to say to her, “You make me laugh a lot.”  _You also make me yearn and love and want and lust. “_ I think you’re smart, kind, funny and ridiculously sarcastic. I like it when you roll your eyes. I like that smudge on your left hand. I think that everything slows when you laugh because it makes me want to savour the sound. You are like a burning supernova because you inject more light in the world every time I see you. You are explosive and consuming and …I think you’re spectacular Feyre Archeron.”

“No wonder you’re good at poetry,” Feyre whispered softly. He hoped she could at least see every raw emotion that he was pouring into her eyes, and the intensity of their gaze was enough to make his heart speed up. All he had to do was lean forward and-

A buzz. They both jolted upright to find the source of the ringing which was Rhys’ phone that was vibrating in his pocket.

It was Cassian calling him, he reluctantly accepted the call with a pained  _what?_

“Woah dude, was I interrupting something? Did you finally get into Feyre’s pa-“ Rhys jolted upright walking out of Feyre’s proximity. Luckily she was staring out of the window and seemed to not hear what Cassian was about to say.

“ _Dude_ ,” he hissed out, “What do you want?”

“Mum wanted to let you know that dinner is ready in ten minutes, there’s no takeout tonight, it seems our father has returned home rather surprisingly.”

_Shit._

“Yes,  _shit,_  Feyre’s still invited if that’s even whether she wants to face Satan himself tonight. But you have to know something-” Rhys heard a rustle, as if the phone had been taken.

“Rhys,” it was Azriel, “Father’s home, he was wondering where you were-“ Rhys heard a very familiar distant voice. The phone was passed over again.

“Rhysand, my son, too busy womanising to come see your old man?”

“Father,” Rhys swallowed, “I’m currently helping my friend with a project.” Feyre’s head perked up towards him at the acknowledgment that he was currently talking to his father. He pressed the phone further to his ear, attempting to prevent Feyre from hearing anything.

“Ha,  _friend_. No need to cover your tracks, Lena was telling me all about your little girlfriend _._ I know all about your, what was it Lena?” There was muted conversation. “That’s it, your undying love for this Feyre girl.”

“Father, please-“

“I’ve heard she’s coming round tonight, I’m ecstatic to finally meet a woman who has you by the balls.” Was this what dying from mortification felt like? Rhys was pretty sure it was. “Well, son, come home quickly, a cooks been in to prepare a nice dinner for us and it’s almost ready. See you and Feyre soon.”

Rhys managed a bye before the phone slipped from his ear.

_For once, why couldn’t Lena keep her mouth shut._

Rhys rubbed at his forehead with his thumb and index finger, attempting to ease the growing tension. Feyre was now looking at him with evident worry. He turned to the girl who he had undoubtedly given his damned balls to.

“Want to make another bargain?” he asked, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Be my girlfriend for the night and I will… I will…” he looked frantically around the room, finally focusing on what he referred to earlier as her ridiculously uncomfortable desk chair, “get you a new desk chair.”

“What’s wrong with my chair?” she asked, looking quite offended.

“Feyre, darling, I feel like I need a new back after sitting in that thing.” She was about to protest but then she looked at it and gave in with a sigh.

“And I need to be your girlfriend. Why?” 

 _Now is the time to lie, Rhys_. He couldn’t possibly tell her that the reason why he needed Feyre as a girlfriend that night was because his little sister announced his undying devotion towards said girl to his father who now wants to meet said girl.  “Because… I made a bet.” 

_Because my father knows that I’m in love with someone which happens to be you and now he can’t wait to meet you._

She was looking at him really suspiciously now. “A bet,” she deadpanned.

The lie reeled of his tongue, “Yes, a bet. With my father. He is home and he bet that I couldn’t get a girlfriend in the two months while he was away. And now, I need a girlfriend quite quickly because it will cost me  _a lot._ My father is very serious in his bets. He’s a stockbroker.”

She seemed to consider it for a few seconds. “So I will be your girlfriend for a night because you need to win some bet with your father and you will get me a new chair.  _That’s_ the bargain?”

God this was stupid. He should just tell her that she can’t come tonight, that she should just stay home. But his father was expecting them and Rhys had been ingrained since birth to impress him. And a massive part of him was screaming in excitement at the thought of Feyre being his girlfriend – even if it was just for the night. “Yes.”

She shrugged and held out her hand, “Sure, but it has to be a nice chair.”

“Deal.”

They shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will start posting the A03 updates more regularly as I understand a lot do not have tumblr.  
> Thanks for all the support everyone, here and on tumblr!


	11. Blackholes and Revelations

“You really didn’t need to put on a dress,” Rhys said, as he shifted gears. Rhys was already regretting everything, which was a recurring theme when involving his family and Feyre Archeron. From a young age, his father had always been a looming presence over his shoulder, pushing and prodding, to be shaped into a mould of the son of a rich business man which his father expected him to follow. He remembered telling his dad a couple of months ago he wanted to take English Lit at Uni, the aftermath involved a couple of months of being ignored and talked down upon – all because Damien Spera believed that if Rhys wasn’t doing either business, economics or law, then there is no hope for a future. Yes, his father was that guy. It wasn’t a favourable position that Rhys wanted to keep. He wanted his dad’s favour back, and hopefully a nice fake girlfriend would help regain it.

He had texted the Spera family group chat while Feyre was getting ready (excluding said Father) to let them know.

_Rhys: Feyre is being my fake girlfriend thanks to Lena and her meddling._

_Lena: ur welcome x_

_Mum: please don’t fight tonight u two xxx_

_Cass: well little brother she was kind of telling the truth. It wasn’t rlly meddling_

_Az: apart from telling father that Feyre was his gf._

_Cass: yeah obvs apart from that_

_Rhys: why am I doing this. I should tell her just to stay home_

_Mor: but u aren’t because you actually want Feyre as ur gf even if it is fake. And u want to get in ur fathers good books again…….sooooooooo_

_Mum: hes in a good mood 2night so dont worry Rhysy xxxx_

_Lena: yh Rhysy xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_Rhys: fuck off Lena_

_Mum: Oi, language Rhys xxxx_

Feyre had put on a casual floral dress and threw her hair up in a not so messy bun and Rhys tried not to stare at her legs for too long.

“We need a story,” she said.

“A story?”

“Yeah, like how we started dating, things like that.”

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in tune with the faint sound of Joy Division from the radio. “Just…I asked you out mid summer, we went on a date, all that shit.”

“Real romantic, Rhys.”

He sighed heavily, “Please, let’s just keep this basic. I just need to win this bet, show my father that I am capable of bringing home a girlfriend.”  _Show him that I’m not a lost cause._  “Listen, tonight is going to be weird, everyone at the table save from my dad will know that our relationship is a fake.”

“I don’t understand, is the bet really that important to you, Rhys?” Rhys thought he had to start lying better because Feyre was seeing right through the legitimacy of this bet.

“It’s not so much the bet. It’s more to impress my father; he’s always inquiring about my love life,” he sighed in exasperation. Trying to ingrain some of the truth was enough.

“There is no bet, is there?”

He shook his head. Already he could see how the night was going to go: his father would treat him like his son again because he had a girlfriend, Lena would be a meddling shit in his love life, the rest of his family would sit back and observe.

“Rhys why am I really being your fake girlfriend tonight?”

Maybe he should just spout it out here?  _Because my sister told my father about how much I love you and that we are in a relationship and now my Father is actually talking to me again so I kind of need you. I’m also incredibly selfish and I just want to hold your hand even if it is fake._   Instead he just said, “I told you, I need to impress my father.”

She looked unsatisfied with the answer.

They pulled up onto the ridiculously long drive, and Feyre let out a breath that she had been holding. Rhys noticed how Feyre was in her state of building anxiety. She kept airing her hands to probably stop the clamminess and she would bite the inside of her mouth a lot more. Her eyes would dart around and he noticed how her chest would rise and fall at a quicker pace.

“You say the word and we are out of here, you don’t even need to go in,” he said feeling incredibly guilty that he was the source of inflicting this anxiety that had come upon her.

She swallowed the anxiety harshly, though it remained in a ball at the pit of her stomach, “It’s just social situations, it happens a lot. It’s fine. I’m fine, I will get over it after a couple of minutes.”

Lies. “Still, let me know.”

She nodded gratefully.

Rhys’ own hands were becoming clammy at the thought of seeing his father again. The last time he saw his father was the back of his head as he was getting into his car - he hadn’t even been bothered to say goodbye.

They walked up to the door together, and Rhys held out his hand. Both of their hands were tacky and he felt Feyre exhale at the thought.

Mor was the one to open the door this time, her eyes instantly going to their joined hands.

She nodded, murmuring something like  _he’s in a good mood_. The door closed behind them and Rhys led her instinctively to the reception room. On the corner of the first sofa, sitting beside his wife, sat Rhys father. His hair was a deep brown, almost black. His face seemed to defy age, just like his wife’s, only the fine wrinkles and streaks of grey breaking the façade. He turned his head towards Feyre, and she was taken back no doubt at the significant similarities that his son held, from the slight bump in his nose to the midnight blue eyes. He arose, slightly taller than Rhys but slightly smaller than Cassian and held out his hand towards his fake girlfriend.

“You must be Feyre. I’m Damien, Rhysands’ father.”

***

 _This was not worth the fucking desk chair_ , Feyre thought, as she sat at the formal dining table in the Spera household. She should have requested something way bigger, like a new plasma TV, the new iPhone, Rhysand completing Feyre’s English coursework. It was difficult to see Damien Spera as a father. She felt like she was eating dinner with a Prime Minister. Never had she sat at a table so formal, with food that featured in restaurants that she could never afford.

She missed Ines’ lasagne.

Damien was chatting about some Croatian clients. No wonder the Spera family were so loaded, he was an international stockbroker working with the richest of the rich. He was also a man who enforced the ‘do not speak unless you are spoken to’ rule which put Feyre in a tight lipped position.

Rhys noticed her discomfort and would squeeze her knee under the table, but it did little to slow her pounding heart. Her hands would slicken with sweat when Damien would turn conversation towards her. The unknown meat that she was cutting into dainty pieces tasted like ash in her mouth.

“You must be quite the girl, Feyre. My son has never brought anyone home before.”

Feyre hoped the smile she gave wasn’t as weak as she felt.

“She is quite the girl, Father, and more,” Rhys said, he was acting differently as if he was wearing a mask. His voice held greater poise, all of them, even Cassian talked with a lilt in his voice. More clarified, pronounced.  _Posh._  Feyre had never felt so common.

It was insanity, how a week ago when Feyre was eating dinner she had felt comfortable, warm. It only took the presence of a single person to erase all of that and replace it with a cold discomfort that matched her own family dinners.

“When did you two start dating?” questioned Damien, his voice was demanding. She hadn’t seen him smile yet.

“Yes, do tell,” murmured Lena, stuffing the tiny pieces of potato in her mouth. Feyre noticed that Lena was undoubtedly Damien’s favourite, he did not seem irritated at her constant side comments. However, when Rhys spoke out of term, his lips twitched downwards in what seemed to be disapproval.

She felt the comforting glances from particularly Ines and Mor being thrown at her, but she tried to focus on not spilling anything, stuttering or blowing up into a full blown panic attack.

“Only the summer, really. It’s been about 4 weeks would you say Rhys?” she replied, looking towards Rhys and he smiled in what must have been reassurance.

Lena snorted from across the table and she noticed Rhys throw her a death glare. From the start of the night, there had been an acclimatising tension between the two siblings.

“What career path are you choosing to take, Feyre? I’ve tried to persuade my boys to take stockbroking but they are all rather reluctant to enter the world,” asked Damien, seemingly choosing to ignore the heat between his children.

Feyre decided that the option of art would not be academic enough for someone like Damien to appreciate, so she resorted to her other strength. “I have a knack for maths, so anything in physics or maybe even economics is an option.”

Thankfully, Damien’s eyes lit up at her answer and she breathed a small sigh of relief. “Ah, Rhys has never been the best at mathematics. Maybe you could go into stockbroking?”

 _I’d rather die._ “Perhaps,” she said instead.

Somehow, she had managed to clear her plate of tiny unfamiliar food at the same speed of everyone else at the table, but now she no longer had food to occupy herself with.

Rhys placed his arm casually round the back of her chair, his shirt brushing the back of her neck. Damien was inquiring about Azriel now, it seemed like he rotated around each child, questioning them on their grades and classes. He pressed Cassian on his rugby training, Lena on her swimming. He even questioned Mor as if she was his own daughter. Feyre could tell that Damien loved every one of his children (and niece) as his eyes lit up in pride as they discuss their achievements in his absence. However it was evident that his love was based within the boundaries of condition. Despite that, it still made her slightly envious that Damien showed any interest in their childrens lives at all. Her own father never asked her about her life anymore. He probably thought she was still with Isaac Hale who she dated for a week in Freshman year. She wondered whether he was okay in that moment as she realised that he would be back from his Veteran’s meeting now. She could almost see him reclining on the sofa reaching for his glass of wine.

Feyre steeled her slightly shaking hand as she reached for her water.

“When I heard that my son was in love, I couldn’t quite believe it. It’s a shame that I had to hear a lot about your relationship from Lena,” said Damien.

The water slipped from her hand.  _Love._  The world zoned in on that one word.

_When I heard that my son was in love._

What. Where did he hear that his son was in love? Lena?

Feyre didn’t realise that her lap was wet until she felt Rhys pressing some napkins to her thighs, she met his eyes, his head so close to hers and it was as if she could read the words desperately going through his mind behind those midnight blue eyes.  _It’s the act. You’re my girlfriend, remember?_

_An act. Of course. Rhys had to act like he was in love with her for his father. Right?_

She was so damn confused. She couldn’t differentiate what was an act or not. Why would Damien hear from  _Lena?_  She felt like while the world was alight she was the only one left in the dark.

Reality streamed back in and Ines was there picking up the broken glass at her feet, Cassian was joking about something in attempt to distract from the situation as Mor and Azriel shared a glance. Feyre suddenly felt the mortification pouring over her.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy, I-“

“Never mind, Feyre, it’s only a glass,” Damien waved it off bringing his wine to his mouth. Ines was there at her shoulder where she gave it light squeeze, before disposing of the glass elsewhere.

The hem of her dress was slightly damp across her bare legs and Rhys’ hand reached for hers and he brought her knuckles to his lips with two words twinkling behind those eyes,  _explain later_. Though it didn’t feel like he wanted to explain anything. It had just startled her hearing the word  _love_  in that sentence. It was so casually put across, like  _pass me the potatoes honey._  She just told Damien that they had been fake dating for four weeks, where had Damien gotten love from?

“Well, Rhys and I were really good friends before we…fell in love. It all happened…very quickly,” said Feyre, her voice slightly shaking but at least she was recovering from that slip up. She felt Rhys cringe slightly next to her.

Lena was now slumped back in her chair, her eyes alight with mischief. “It’s been a long time coming, my brother has been enamoured with Feyre for quite a while now, isn’t that right Rhys?”

***

Rhysand had decided to murder his sister that night. He cleared his throat. Morrigan coughed at his expense and Cassian had the nerve to just look fucking amused.

He was so done with bringing his crush to his family dinners.

“Well…Lena,” he said, he didn’t dare look at Feyre. He cleared his throat. “It is difficult to pinpoint an exact moment when I fell in love with Feyre.”

“Is that so?” Lena said.

“Yes,” he gritted out.

To his surprise, Feyre clasped her hand with his hand that was previously resting on his knee and said with an easy smile, “I think it was a gradual process, we have only been dating for a couple weeks,” she directed this to Damien,  _aware_  that he was the only one in the room  _unaware_  that this was all a ruse, “but I think I loved him before that.”

Rhys had to look down to avoid the eyes of his family. He savoured the words in a world where what she just said wasn’t a stupid act to impress his father.

He had basically just confessed his love to Feyre in front of his entire family yet Feyre seemed to remain completely unaware that it wasn’t part of the act. Fuck his life.

A buzz of a phone permeated the room and his father looked exceptionally irritated at the interruption as he forked out his phone from his pocket and excused himself, mumbling something like  _damn Croatians._

“Lena, you better sleep with one eye open, you little snake,” hissed Rhys, as he leaned over the table. Rhys remembered that Feyre was still sitting by his side and thus reigned himself in.

She clicked her tongue and looked to a rather confused Feyre, but directed her speech at her older brother, “What? I’m doing you a favour,  _Rhysand_.”

Rhys rose to his feet sauntering round the table to haul Lena out of her chair. She protested a little but eventually followed him into the kitchen.

“Why did you tell our father about Feyre, Lena? Why did you tell him that Feyre was my  _little girlfriend.”_  His voice was low and threatening.

“Because he wanted to know where you were. Oh wait, you were round your girlfriends house if I so recall, so of course she cropped up in conversation,” she stuffed a profiterole in her mouth from the readymade desserts waiting on the kitchen side.

He wanted to throttle her. “Lena she is  _not_  my girlfriend.”

“But do you want her to be?” she perched herself innocently on the counter.

“Of course I do, but I kind of need Feyre’s full fucking consent for that one Lena!” He dragged his hand down his face. “I can’t believe you told  _dad_  that I was in love with her.”

He watched his little sisters shoulders slump. “I was just trying to help. I really want you two to be together. And I want dad to stop looking at you like you’re a stranger. It’s weird.”

All anger dissipated towards her. “I know kiddo, me too. But I can’t just force this on her, she’s just gotten out of a really shitty relationship and she may not even want another relationship in a long time. I’ve learned to be patient.” He ruffled her hair in a brotherly manner. “As for dad, he’s just pissed that I’m not following his intended career choices. He will get over it.”

She started to giggle, “Well, at least you got to have her as a fake girlfriend. And dad genuinely believes it.”

He smiled back at her. His sister was a scheming little shit but he loved her for it. Sometimes.

***

By the time they returned back to the dining room, everyone was gone.

The front door was their first call as it was wide open, letting in the autumn breeze that bit at the exposed skin. The Spera siblings rushed out to find their parents arguing, Cassian and Azriel brushed past him to return inside. Mor and Feyre were nowhere to be seen due to the darkness concealing the mass expanse in front of them.

“Mum? What happened?”

Ines swore viciously in Arabic at her husband before turning to her son.

“Rhys, you’re going to need to take Feyre to the hospital.”

***

Feyre couldn’t feel her legs. They were moving but she didn’t feel them moving, like she was existing outside her body. Watching the panic on her face grow, her chest heaving to swallow air, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Feyre! We need to drive you, you can’t walk there!”

It was Mor, who seemed to be running to catch up with her.

_Is this Miss Archeron?_

_Your father is currently with us._

Feyre remembered the way it felt like the walls were turning black round the edges and seeping in around her until she was numb. She can’t remember the words that came out of her mouth as she rose from the table, tripping over something – maybe someone – her breaths coming in short gasps. The hands that grasped at her arms she shook of violently for no apparent reason other than that she needed to move.

_Your presence is requested Miss Archeron at the Prythian Hospital._

She surged forward into the autumn night, Mor’s ragged breaths approaching close to her right.

“Feyre stop, you’re going to collapse, you need to breathe,” she rasped.

The familiar sound of car pulled over towards them and Feyre let Mor guide her quickly to it only because the numbness in her legs was changing to a crippling pain.

It was a blur of leather seats and a door slamming and Feyre was jolted forwards to only be pressed back against the seat again. Two familiar bodies on both sides of her.

“She’s having a panic attack,” said a voice, it was low, Azriel? Cassian? Rhys? She couldn’t tell.

The air in her lungs wasn’t enough. It was as if she was being submerged underwater, everything either muffled or blurry. She desperately wanted to be sick.

_I’m sorry to inform you but your father has attempted suicide._

“Breathe, Feyre,” said a smooth voice in her right ear. “Count to ten with me.”

“One.”

A jagged exhale.

“Two.”

A broken sob.

“Three.”

Her hand was being pressed against a chest, a beating heart. She felt the thump beneath her fingers. She let it drown out any other sound.

“…seven,” said the voice.

The water was beginning to recede, her throat felt like she had swallowed knives.

“Eight.”

The biting wind through the windows pricked at her skin, the tears on her face dry from the cold.

“Nine.”

She felt the empty space around her, they were giving her as much space as possible in the back seats of the Camaro.

“Ten.”

She was freezing, her body had finally caught up with reality. The only warmth was the hand placed over her own that was still attached to the chest of Rhys. She let her hand fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuun


	12. The Perfect Family Reunion

Rhys watched his fake girlfriend sleep in a chair beside her unconscious father. The nurses would visit every 30 minutes, tugging on wires, adjusting drips. He had sat here for 6 hours, counting the tiles on the ceiling (56) reading the 2 week old newspaper (Brexit backlash - again), even counting the freckles across Feyre’s nose that he could from this distance (Over 20).

He remembered holding Feyre’s hand as the doctors told her that her father jumped off a four story building, breaking nearly half of his bones in his body. He remembered holding her when she cried because she had no one else.

Mor had ended up so distressed that she was escorted outside by Cassian and Azriel.

Feyre’s legs were curled up beneath her. At some point a Nurse had covered her with a blanket.

She looked so small. So incredibly small.

The door opened to the private room to find his mother rush forward towards him. Rhys rose from his chair, reaching out to her as she was to him. He buried his face into her neck as she stroked her hand through his hair.

“Mum,” he breathed out, his body almost wracking with sobs but he reined it in. It felt as though he didn’t have the right.

“Sweetheart, you need to go home, get some sleep. I will look after Feyre,” she said.

Rhys shook his head into her shoulder. “I can’t…I can’t leave her.”

“Rhysand-“

They broke apart to find Feyre – no, not Feyre – a woman, with greying hair, sharp and angular facial features and familiar icy blue eyes, staring at the broken pieces of the man in the hospital bed. This was undoubtedly Feyre’s mother.

Her eyes drifted over the bed several times to eventually fall on the sleeping form beside the bed. Rhys didn’t think that Feyre’s mother had even noticed himself and Ines standing only a few metres away. She was unnaturally still as her eyes focused on her daughter apart from the steady rise and fall of her chest.

She then turned and left.

Rhys turned to his mother, “That was…peculiar.”

***

Feyre dreamt that she was falling but there was no end. The wind would lash at her bare skin and her arms would scramble for surface but nothing. Instead, the darkness would attempt to swallow her whole. She almost let it.

She jolted awake, the dimmed lights of the hospital room illuminating the whiteness of it all. Two figures approached her cautiously. Rhysand knelt beside her, taking her hand and warming it between his as Ines stood at her side, brushing the hair of Feyre’s face in such a maternal way that she almost sobbed at how she hadn’t felt such comfort in a long time.

“Tell us what you need, honey,” said Ines.

There was a list of things that Feyre needed. She needed a functional family, a healthy father. Supporting sisters and a loving mother. She needed time, to process things. She needed a hot bath with bubbles and candles. She needed to change into her fluffy pyjamas, bundle under a duvet and never emerge.

“I’m hungry,” she rasped out instead, her throat clawed by sobbing.

She wasn’t hungry, but she needed something to occupy herself with. Ines stayed with her, pulling over a chair and holding her hand. Rhys returned with an assortment of items, crisps, pasta, bottled water. She was reaching for the pasta until she heard her name.

“Feyre!” It was the unmistakeable voice of her middle sister.

Elain was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes glassy and red. She wore a long bohemian skirt, her hair braided back was loose and messy.

The youngest Archeron sister rose from her chair, despite trembling legs. Feyre wasn’t prepared for the crushing hug that Elain had enveloped her in. Despite being smaller than her younger sister, Elain wrapped her dainty arms around Feyre with such bruising force. On the other hand, Feyre didn’t return the hug. She let Elain wrap her arms around her, but Feyre felt no use in her arms, or hugging back.

“Long time no see,” Feyre murmured as she pulled away, bitterness entwining itself with every word.

Elain looked slightly taken aback, her mouth gaped open. It was as if her middle sister was expecting a reunion full of family hugs and love. But they weren’t a normal family.

“I-  _Feyre_ , I missed you.”

Feyre scoffed, “Did you miss him?” she gestured to their father, who was wrapped in so many casts and bandages there was barely a patch of skin visible. “So nice of you to visit.  _Oh._ Right, I haven’t seen you for well over a year now.”

Elain took a step back, shame lining her features. Feyre supressed the pang of guilt that came from that - Elain had always been her favourite since she was the only one in the family who actually paid attention to her. But now, Feyre was letting the ice and fire beneath her skin show its form. And she didn’t care who she unleashed it upon.

Two more figures now joined them in the private room of Prythian Hospital.

The one figure was her eldest sister, who looked completely unaffected by their broken father in a hospital bed only a few metres away.

The second figure was someone who felt utterly foreign yet looked unmistakably familiar. The woman who she hadn’t seen in 4 years. Her mother. 

***

“Well isn’t this just the perfect fucking family reunion,” spat Feyre, tears already dripping down her face.

Rhys and Ines knew they shouldn’t be in here.

But they stood their ground for moral support, as one look at Feyre, who was almost losing it to hopeless hysteria, made it impossible to leave.

Feyre’s mother stepped forward, “Feyre,” she said firmly, “I know you’re angry with me but-“

“Angry with you?” Feyre laughed a cold laugh, “I’m fucking furious with you. This is your fault. You never loved father, you never loved  _me._ You are a _coward,_ a _weak_ and _spineless coward.”_

Feyre’s mother didn’t even flinch, like she was expecting such words to come from her daughters mouth after four years.

The eyes of the eldest sister narrowed in observation, finally drawing onto Rhys and his mother. Her voice was detached from her body as she said, “This is an Archeron family matter.”

“Oh, fuck you Nesta,” spat Feyre before Ines could even open her mouth. “Since when were you a fucking Archeron? You hated this family.” Feyre gestured between Ines and Rhys, “I’ve found my own family now.” Rhys’ heart shattered. “So will you all piss off because I doubt you’re here to pay your respects. You’re probably here to make sure father’s dead so you don’t have to feel guilty about ignoring us in the future. But you probably have never felt guilty at all have you?”

Feyre’s chest heaved in emotional agony, Elain was crying silent tears, Nesta stood with unnatural stillness and remained completely expressionless. It was exceptionally unnerving. 

“You’re right about certain things,” said Feyre’s mother, “I haven’t felt guilty about leaving your father. And I’m not here to pay my respects.” She started to move towards her daughter with calm, like she was befriending a wild animal. “But I have felt regret for leaving you behind, Feyre.”

The world stilled for a moment as he heard Feyre release a shuddering breath, no doubt another bitter remark to leave her tongue.

But Feyre’s mother beat her to it, “Feyre, I’m here to take you home. With us.”

***

It was raining. Water lashed in streams against the windows, the distant sound of roaring thunder followed by bright flashes illuminated the walls of Feyre’s bedroom.

Feyre had just returned home from visiting her father, who had been conscious for over 2 weeks now but was a complete and utter shell. Drawing words from him was like telling an untrained puppy to sit. Her father was choosing to close in on himself. Regression was a painful existence that Feyre had to watch.

In legality, Feyre Archeron had no choice. She still had three months until her 18th birthday, and she was legally obliged to follow her mother since her father was incapable of being her guardian.

But here she remained in her own bedroom, the painted stars on the ceiling beginning to fade. Her phone buzzed. She picked up.

“Hey,” said Rhys.

“Hi,” whispered Feyre, the cracks in the ceiling was ruining her painting of Jupiter, she took a mental note to go over it.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Same, but okay.”

There was a small sigh on the other end.

“How’s the moving in going?” he asked, referring to the empty boxes that lined the hallway.

“Nesta is a control freak, as per usual. She is more bossy than I remember. But everything is done now,” she replied, examining the frays on her jumper.

“And Thomas?”

“He’s an even bigger wanker than I remember.”

A small chuckle, Feyre couldn’t remember how she started savouring the little laughs that erupted from Rhysand’s mouth.

There was a knock at her door, and Feyre slipped her phone behind her, aware that Rhys was still listening. Thomas Mandray opened her door and leaned casually against the door frame, he held a shit eating smile that made her want to claw at his face.

“Nesta and I are going out to dinner tonight,” he trailed his finger down her door frame, “I suggest you evacuate the house by the time we get back.”

Feyre almost gagged at what he was insinuating, “You’re disgusting.”

He smiled an empty smile, “Hmm,” he said, beginning to stroll towards her.

This was the deal. Nesta had finished University, was engaged to a fucking nightmare, and was seeking a home. In the current economic climate, how was it possible for a 21 year old to get a decent house without a sickening mortgage and debt  _and_  be unemployed?

That was suggestion that Nesta herself proposed as Feyre was throwing horrific insults at her mother in a tiny meeting room while being surrounded by family lawyers. Nesta was to move in probably keep the house, be her guardian until Feyre turned 18.

That was the agreement that Nesta and Feyre came to, with reluctance on both behalves. But it was a compromise, one where Nesta got a new home with her fiancé and Feyre got to keep her home. She couldn’t think of anything worse than moving to a big city with her mother and her new boyfriend.

One of the major pitfalls of the agreement was Thomas Mandray, who was currently stalking towards Feyre in a way that was supposed to casually seductive. It was revolting.

Feyre instinctively moved backwards on her bed, but Thomas’ hand reached out and pinched her cheek. She slapped his hand away forcefully. She was refraining from biting his hand off.

“Cute,” he huffed. He then turned away and left, leaving the door to click close.

As Feyre pressed her phone back to her ear, Rhys said, “That was fucking creepy, what did he do?”

“He pinched my cheek, I slapped him away. He gave me that weird look again. I hate him.”

“You’re staying round mine tonight.”

“Rhys, I already had my bag packed.”

***

When Cassian opened the letter he had hidden underneath his pillow on the morning of his 18th birthday over two weeks ago, he had expected to see a letter of professed guilt and regret from a parent.

He didn’t know why he waited, why he thought that being 18 gave him more confidence to open the letter.

But his life had ended and started with that letter.

He had yet to tell anyone else. He knew that they wouldn’t judge him, that his mother would be supportive and loving as always and his brothers and sisters would continue to treat him as he was. But the words involved in telling his family were words that Cassian had yet to actually get out of his mouth, even when he practised in front of a mirror.

The only words he was able to get out of his mouth were two simple ones.

_I’m sorry._

_***_

“I bought wine, for milady,” said Cassian as he handed his mother some rose. “I bought some vodka and mixers for us sad Seniors,” he dropped the bag on the kitchen counter. “Then I bought little Lena a cute little WKD.”

“You’re enjoying being eighteen way too much, Cassian,” said Ines, who had already opened the bottle of wine and started pouring.

Cassian winked at his mother, “I’m liberated, dear mother.”

Lena held her little blue bottle with distaste, “I’m almost  _fifteen.”_

That Friday night, a week before Azriel’s birthday, the Spera family (minus Damien, plus Feyre) sat at the kitchen table with their Chinese takeaway and the box of monopoly sat waiting on the side. Feyre was spending an increasing amount of time in the Spera household, the guest bedroom opposite Mor’s was now the accepted room of Feyre, who had spent nearly a week in that room while Nesta was packing up her own flat with Thomas.

It was a blissful evening, one where Feyre didn’t have to worry about sparking any fights with Nesta or having to physically avoid Thomas. Nesta was still cold towards her, but Feyre had never been treated any different, the only person who Nesta treated with any warm emotion was Elain. Elain, who was currently in her final year at Uni and would text Feyre every day in what seemed to be an attempt to rekindle a relationship.

But there were always little things about Nesta that surprised Feyre. Sometimes she would make her a cup of tea and leave it by her bedside table in the morning before school. Nesta would take short showers so Feyre could have a hot bath. When Feyre fell asleep on the sofa with homework scattered around her she would wake up to be found covered in a blanket and her homework neatly stacked on the coffee table. These little things mattered, they made Feyre feel like she had a sister. And she hadn’t felt like that in a long time.

That night, after Lena had slayed everyone at monopoly and a family war had broken out, Feyre lay on Mors bed, snuggled under the duvet. The room was a bit fuzzy after having some vodka mixers, Mor however actually tripped into bed after having a lot of vodka mixers.

“Shit, I knew Cassian was putting more vodka in my drinks than usual,” she sighed, rearranging herself around the ridiculous formation of pillows on her bed.

Feyre giggled, “He filled your cup half way with vodka each time Mor.”

“That sneaky bastard.”

They both broke out into fits of giggles, laughing at nothing and everything. They dissolved into a comfortable silence, sleep was a foreboding presence.

“Feyre?” Mor whispered.

“Yeah?” she replied sleepily, her eyes firmly shut.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Feyre forced her eyes to open, she faced Mor on her side, Mor was already looking back. “Sure.”

***

“I like Andromache.” The words slipped from Morrigan’s mouth so quickly that she knew it was the alcohol prompting her to speak.

“Like…  _like_  like?” Feyre asked. Mor nodded, feeling nervous about speaking the words aloud. She knew Feyre was open minded, that she wouldn’t care. But Mor still felt self-conscious anyway.

Then Feyre said, “Do you need me to wing woman you?”

Mor looked at Feyre in surprise. “You don’t care…at all?”

Feyre snorted, “What? About you being gay? God no, Mor. You could like boys, girls, trees and I will still have your back. Though please don’t go out with a tree, I can’t really wing woman you to get on a tree.”

A bubble of laughter erupted from Mor’s mouth and she wondered why she was nervous at all about telling Feyre.

“Andromache is super pretty, I always admire her hair. It’s so long,” said Feyre, turning on her back. Mor followed suit.

“She is beautiful,” agreed Mor. “She’s so smart too. How can she know so many languages?”

That week, in French, Mor was mesmerised by the way the language fell so easily out of Andromache’s mouth. She would literally just stare at her lips for the full hour, her teacher constantly telling her to focus and pay attention.

That day, Mor imagined what it would be like to press her own lips against Andromache’s.

It would be so soft.  _So soft._

“Hello, Mor? Damn, you so need to get on Andromache,” said Feyre waving her hand in front of Mor’s eyes.

Mor batted her hand away. “Say’s you. You seem to be looking at Rhys at lot more recently,” she teased.

She noticed how Feyre looked at her slightly agape for a few seconds. “I do not!” Feyre spluttered out.

“Hmm, of course not. You were totally not flirting with him when you made that bargain yesterday.”

This seemed to be the recurring element of Feyre and Rhys’ relationship – they made a lot of deals. Pointless bargains that most often seemed like bets but now it just became their thing whenever they came to an agreement. Yesterday, Feyre agreed to do Rhys’ maths homework if he did her English work, and they shook on it. They were insignificant and unnecessary of a handshake but it was just their little thing. She knew Rhys secretly loved it.

“Rhys and I act like that all the time! It’s not flirting,” Feyre protested.

“Then what is it? Unresolved sexual tension?”

“No! It’s… banter.”

“Riiiight, Fey, you keep thinking that babes.”

Feyre prodded Mor’s arm and Mor poked her back. They lay there in the darkness, sleep seeping in.

“Thanks Mor,” whispered Feyre.

“For what?” Mor murmured.

“For everything you’ve done for me.”

Mor smiled a small smile, though the darkness concealed it. “That’s what best friends are for.”

***

He hated these parties. Lucien was sitting in a living room with a bunch of football players he didn’t care about. Tamlin was laughing with Bron, a beer in hand as they watched boxing on the TV.

He wondered what Feyre was doing right now. When he heard about her father, he had approached her in school and pulled her into a hug that he would give when they were best friends. It was the hug that Feyre would give him when his family were giving him grief, or it was the hug that he would give Feyre when she cried over her father or Tamlin.

She hadn’t resisted.

Then they pulled away and he saw Tamlin looking at him with betrayal in his eyes so he squeezed Feyre’s hand and walked away. When he looked back, Feyre was looking back at him. The words relayed between them, _I miss you._

Now, he had to sit and listen to people he hated talk about girls in such a way that made him sick. He could almost hear Feyre’s rants on misogyny and feminism that she told to Tamlin when he said demeaning things. He wanted to relay her words at their faces while changing the channel to Oprah.

“I’m telling you, she was such an easy fuck, you’d easily be able to get on her at the next Senior party.”

Lucien winced. Tamlin sat beside him, clapping him on the back, “Dude, lighten up a bit will you.”

“Your friends are disgusting.”

Tamlin gave him a funny look, as if to say,  _what’s up with you man?_

“Don’t worry, Tam. He just needs to get laid,” said Hart, taking a swig from his beer.

_No, I don’t need to get laid. I need to get the fuck out of here._

“You going to get back with Feyre, Tam?” asked Bron, about 5 more heads turned towards Tamlin in that question. Feyre was still a very touchy subject for Tamlin, and Lucien refrained from mentioning her when Tamlin discussed his counselling.

Tamlin shrugged, “Maybe.”

“What the fuck, Tamlin. She’s never going to get back with you,” spat Lucien.

“Ianthe said if she’s on my mind a lot, then I may as well give it a try.”

Lucien felt instantly sick. What did his counsellor think she was doing? He shook his head rapidly, he was lost for words.

“You’re going to leave Feyre alone. She’s with the dream- she’s with the Head Boy and Head Girl now, Cassian, Azriel,  _Amren._ ” The boys whistled through their teeth, Cassian and Azriel were one thing. But Amren was another, it was a known fact that Amren was capable of shattering someone’s face with one punch. Rhysand and Morrigan were the King and Queen of the school, they were near enough invincible. “Forget about Feyre, come on Tam, you’re better than this.”

Tamlin leaned in close, his eyes dangerous and his tone low, “Don’t tell me what to do, Vanserra.”

With that, Lucien stood. He couldn’t be around him when he was like this. When he was surrounded by the very people Feyre and him would shake their heads in disgust at. 

Every boy in that shitty living room looked at Lucien like he was prey, with malicious glints in their eyes and twisted smiles. 

He couldn’t help Tamlin. Not like this.


	13. The night where Mystery Inc drank too much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is v NSFW

Only two weeks ago, had Azriel sat at his Birthday dinner sipping whiskey and being treated like a King.

Now? He had really drawn the short straw with this one.

The Senior Halloween party was taking place at Helion’s house in the suburbs, and it was absolutely essential that you wore a costume, otherwise you just wouldn’t be allowed entry. Even Amren was participating, though, she was most definitely not participating in the group costume that was organised.

“We’re just missing Velma,” said Ines, already taking a horrifically large amount of photos that made Azriel want to die.

Cassian patted Azriels’ head, “Oh liven up, Scooby.”

Azriel resisted the urge to bite Shaggy’s hand off.

Rhys looked quite frankly ridiculous with his blonde wig on, but he still managed to pull it off as Fred.

Morrigan was looking as flawless as ever, and had actually temporarily dyed her hair ginger to fit with her violet gogo boots.

“Feyre will be here in a bit, Nesta’s bringing her here,” said Rhys, looking off the text that Feyre had most probably sent him.

At the sound of Nesta’s name, Cassian’s head whipped up, “Is she just going to drop her off or is she actually going to make an appearance?”

Rhys narrowed his eyes at his brother, “I don’t know Cass, but honestly please keep in mind that she is engaged for when the next time you flirt with her.”

Cassian shrugged and mumbled, “She ain’t married yet.”

***

“You’re not my mum, Nesta.”

“No, and thank god I’m not,” snapped Nesta as she slammed the car door close.

Feyre took the passenger seat, her orange turtle neck was doing wonders preventing the cold from nipping at her skin.

“Listen, it’s my responsibility to make sure you stay safe,” Nesta gritted out, it was almost hard to hear the words over how loud Dido was playing. Feyre turned down the volume.

Nesta turned it back up again.

Feyre turned the radio off.

Feyre heard the sharp exhale of someone about to lose their shit.

There was a palpable silence in the car for a few minutes. Feyre watched them pass different neighbourhoods, the houses becoming bigger and grander as they drove on.

Interrupting Feyre’s observation of a dog walker almost tripping over their tiny Chihuahua, Nesta said, “Please wear a condom if you’re going to have sex, I can’t bear the thought of looking after a baby.”

A snort erupted from Feyre’s mouth, “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

A sigh, “Of course you don’t.” It was quite evident that Nesta disapproved of Feyre’s sexual history. 

“I hope Thomas isn’t too much of a twat tonight,” said Feyre. Earlier he had pulled at her skirt and winked,  _I get it, easy access,_  he had said. Feyre had kneed him the balls leading to yet another fight with Nesta about how Feyre should respect her fiancé more.

There was another long sigh from Nesta before she said, “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“With every fibre of my being. Why are you with him again?”

“Because he has a good future, solid career lined up-“

“Nesta, you do know that none of that matters. You’re marrying _him,_ not his stupid career.”

The tension turned into that familiar feeling before a fight was about to erupt.

“I don’t need to take advice from my seventeen year old little sister. I don’t need your judgements. Will you take your fat nose out of my relationship?”

There it was, for a moment Feyre thought Nesta might actually voice her true feelings about her douchebag fiancé, but no. This was always the end result.

The Spera household came into view. They pulled up, and Feyre was already out the car ready to get positively smashed and walking up the driveway until she found Nesta walking up beside her.

“You’re coming in?”

“No. I’m taking pictures for Elain. She told me to take pictures of you all,” deadpanned Nesta, obviously reluctant to do as Elain requested.

The door opened upon their arrival and Feyre almost collapsed onto the floor at the sight before her.

How they managed to persuade Azriel to wear a Scooby Doo costume, Feyre would never know.

***

 _Why were teenagers becoming more annoying?_  Thought Nesta as a bulking Shaggy sauntered up towards her.

“Nesta! I-“

“Go away, Cassian.”

The brute’s face contorted with what seemed to be mock hurt, “How you wound me so.”

“How about more salt to those wounds, you look positively ridiculous. Could you not get a costume in a bigger size?”

He flexed his biceps, and Nesta almost swore she heard a rip in the green t-shirt he was wearing. “Sadly, Shaggy costumes don’t accommodate for muscles of steel.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. Every one of their encounters had been Nesta trying to pie him off while Cassian shamelessly flirted. She would wave her engagement ring in front of his face for good measure, but he remained exceptionally undeterred.

“That’s cute,” Nesta deadpanned.

“How about that date?” asked Cassian. Does this kid not get it?

“When will you get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m engaged?” She emphasised her point with her diamond ring, that she held up to him for the billionth time.

“I could get you a bigger one of those,” he said pointing to the diamond. “I could also provide you with a bigger di-“

“Your mother is standing about ten metres away,” she hissed, though everyone was too loud in discussion to hear them speak.

“I was going to say diamond necklace, but whatever floats your boat, Nesta dear.” Nesta seethed, as it was evident that was not what he was going to say. “I always knew you had a filthy mind.”

“I’m going to walk away now, before I end up murdering a minor,” said Nesta.

“I’m 18, but you can still murder me anyway. I would let you do anything to me,” he winked for good measure, “ _Anything_.”

“Don’t do anything Elain wouldn’t do, Feyre!” She called out quickly, turning away and out the door. She heard the insufferable laughter of the brute from behind her and she clenched her fists. As she sat in the car, she forced herself to drive home. Because home was definitely not where she wanted to be right now.

***

Helion’s house was a lot smaller than anticipated, but it was dressed up to the extreme. Fake cobwebs smothered the trees surrounding in white while the cheap ghouls and ghosts that hung around the windows looked particularly eerie in the dark.

Seniors littered the house, someone was already passed out on the front garden.

The inside was similar. Everything was open plan and was adorned with keep out signs, fake cobwebs and there was even Halloween style beer pong in the kitchen.

Helion greeted them, he was dressed as a policeman, a costume that was undoubtedly bought off a stripper website. No one could deny that he looked like something that walked out of a Vogue magazine but slutty.

“Do you want to do some role play, hot policeman?” asked Cassian as they were handed shots.

“We can do, if you’re a naughty boy, Shaggy,” purred Helion. The entire group gagged. And it wasn’t the shots.

***

Mor was looking for someone. The alcohol flowing through her veins was making the room blur a bit, but there was only one person in focus.

Andromache was bobbing awkwardly with the music. She looked so out of place but absolutely adorable in her Witch costume. She even had the stripy knee high socks that allowed Mor to admire the smooth thigh due to the short skirt she was wearing.

Mor made no hesitation, she adjusted her hair slightly before casually making her way to Andromache and her friends.

“Hi there,” said Mor as she sidled her way up to the group of witches, black cats, and angels.

“Hi,” Andromache whispered out when she took in Mor in all her Daphne glory. “You look…um, so awesome.”

Unashamedly, Mor winked at her and enjoyed the blush creeping up Andromache’s face. Mor then finally noticed that Andromache’s friends were looking at her with confusion – probably because they wondering why Head Girl was talking to a member of their group.

It was evident, Andromache was definitely closeted.

Mor took advantage of the fact that Andromache had emptied her cup, and so she took her by the wrist and whisked her away from her group, “Come on, let’s go and get a drink.”

As they wove through the crowd, eventually finding the kitchen, Andromache turned to her and whispered, “Morrigan, they don’t know. No one does.”

“Apart from me.”

“Yes, apart from you.” She sighed sadly, “My parents would disown me if they knew.”

A pang of empathy went through Mor so quickly. “My parents would most likely behead me too. So, how good are you at keeping secrets?”

Andromache looked hesitant, and Mor longed for the day where no one would have to worry about being with the same gender and not act like they were committing a crime.

Eventually she nodded a small smile gracing that wondrous mouth and Mor resisted the urge to kiss her right there and then. Instead she settled for casually brushing her hand with Andromache’s.

They then both smiled a secret smile.

***

Lucien didn’t know what he was doing here. He was starting to hate parties, and he hated dressing up. It was even sadder that he turned up alone. The only reason why he came was because he heard there was free booze. No greater time to get drunk alone. The football team weren’t invited surprisingly, as Helion had refused to allow ‘hooligans’ in, no doubt Helion would face homophobic remarks in the school halls on Monday. Tamlin was texting him as if everything was normal, but it wasn’t. At school, he hung out with Tamlin because he was the only resort, even if Tamlins’ friends went out of their way to give him twisted glares and Lucien had very much become accustomed to backhand comments. It was exactly like how his brothers treated him, so he guessed it was as normal as life could be for him – an utter shitfest.

He was stalking up Helion’s front garden ready to sit in a corner with a too strong cup of vodka and coke. However, Velma from Scooby Doo had took hold of his arm upon his arrival, and he was surrounded by other members of Mystery Inc.

“Wow, you make a good looking pirate,” said Feyre. He looked up to find a very oversized Shaggy and a rather uncomfortable looking Scooby Doo.

“Am I high?” asked Lucien. Cassian roared with laughter and even Azriel let out a smile. Feyre gave him a warm smile, though he could tell from her eyes that she was drunk.

They were all drunk. Lucien was a tad jealous. 

“Here,” said Cassian handing him his drink, “You need to catch up.”

Lucien ignored the horrendous taste as he downed it.

“Lucien! You made it!” said Fred – no Rhys – as he threw his arm around his shoulder.

Lucien tried not to think about how comfortable he felt being around his best friend again, how they would joke and smile while pointing out the worst costumes. He also tried not to think about how easy it was to like  _them._ Though Cassian was a jokester, Rhys was still insufferable and Azriel was somewhat menacing, he saw how Feyre liked them. Even when they were destroying Lucien’s ear drums with Bohemian Rhapsody.

A further thing that he noticed was how Feyre acted around Rhys. Rhys was always flirting with Feyre no matter, but this time Feyre would flirt back. He didn’t miss how their eyes would be drawn to each other, or how Rhys would not stop looking at Feyre’s legs.  _I’ve got my fucking eyes on you Spera._

Feyre ended up taking him by his arm to speak privately, manoeuvring their way to the front of the house and on the porch.

“How are you?” were the first words that slipped out of her mouth. She leaned back against the brick wall. Lucien followed.

“Okay. I guess.”

She snorted, “That means a resounding nope.”

Lucien hated how she was one of the few people who could actually read him. It made lying difficult.

“Okay, I’m shitty. I hate my life. Tamlin is a lost cause. And I miss you.” The words were prompted by the alcohol, but it felt better just to admit those things.

Feyre brushed her shoulder with his and she hiccupped before taking another swig from what was in her cup. “I’ve missed you too. Can you please come hang around with us now? You may hate your life a little less with us. The dream team, Lucien Vanserra, are a fucking blast. And amazing friends.”

Lucien didn’t understand this reluctance to hang around with Rhysand and his crew. Tonight was funny and he enjoyed their presence but it must be the alcohol talking. Maybe it was just the pure fact that he didn’t think he could ever fit in with them. Feyre easily slotted into their puzzle, like she was a missing piece. But Lucien felt like he could never belong to their puzzle, that he was a piece from another jigsaw that got mixed with the dream teams jigsaw and would eventually get thrown away. He would never find his own jigsaw. Shit, he was so drunk.

So Lucien decided to divert Feyre’s request to join them, and said instead, “When will you be getting on Rhys?”

Feyre spluttered out her drink. “Why do you think I will be getting on Rhys?”

“Because you were making me feel awkward with your eye sex and obvious flirting. Come on, you two will probably get together in the next week.”

Feyre seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging, “Fair point.”

Then Lucien said something that he never thought he would admit to anyone in his own life. “He’s a good kisser, by the way.”

He felt Feyre whip her head towards him. “You’ve kissed him? Holy fuck, Vanserra when? Tell me everything.” Her tone was mostly surprise but he could spot the inflection of jealousy.

“Junior year, we experimented. It was just a kiss.”

“Did you like it?” asked Feyre.

Lucien shrugged, “Maybe.” Feyre raised a brow. “Fine, yes, I liked it.”

A giggle escaped Feyre’s mouth, “I knew you had a little gayness in you, was always waiting for it to come out.”

He shoved her playfully and she snorted from laughter, before throwing her head back and hitting it on the brick wall earning a little ‘ouch’ to erupt from Feyre’s mouth.

Just seeing her happy was like the old times, only this time, it was without Tamlin. And his name was a punch in his gut.

“Fey, listen. I have to tell you something about Tamlin.”

Her eyes darkened at his name, and she swallowed, looking at the floor. “What is it?” she asked reluctantly. He noticed that she took another swig. A rather long one.

“He thinks he can get you back. I mean, well, he still wants you back. I told him to back off. But you know how he is. His new counsellor seems to be whispering poison into his ear. It’s messed up.”

Lucien didn’t know whether he was telling her this as a warning, or just out of courtesy. But he watched how her face contorted into something like disgust and frustration.

“Well he has another thing coming if he tries anything. Amren would happily eat him for breakfast.”

***

“Okay, I admit it. I fancy Rhys.” The words poured out of Feyre’s mouth as soon as she found Mor (and Andromache) getting cosy in the back garden on a bench behind a shed. Speaking to Lucien made it clear to her that she needed to find Morrigan for a girl pep talk before she attempted anything. The first thing she had to do was admit fancying the fuck out of Rhysand Spera.

“ _Finally,”_ exclaimed Mor. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for ages.”

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Feyre hiccupped as she gestured between Mor and Andromache, she had not missed that the latter girl pulled her hand away from the former when Feyre had approached them.

“Well, Fey, you kind of were,” said Mor. Their lips were swollen and Feyre mentally kicked herself.

“Mor!” Andromache whispered harshly.

Mor took hold of Andromaches hand again, “Don’t worry, Feyre knows. She’s the first person I told about liking you.”

A small ‘oh’ came from Andromache as she relaxed back into the bench.

“I want to kiss Rhys. Do you think he likes me back?” Feyre was now unloading all her thoughts because she couldn’t control her stupid tongue.

Mor stood and took hold of Feyre’s shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes, “Trust me, he likes you back.”

Feyre’s heart fluttered.

A clamour of people burst through the doorway to the back garden. It was Cassian howling with laughter at something Rhys had said, Azriel followed, his face devoid of any frown. Amren followed, her mouth streaked with blood. Her costume was exactly the same as her usual attire,  _I’m a vampire, duh,_ she had said. Lucien managed to stumble out too, almost tripping on a potted plant.

Rhys saw her with Mor, now unconcealed by the shed and pointed, “There you are, I’ve been looking for you!” he slurred. He was smiling with those perfect teeth of his and his arms looked fucking edible.

Fuck inhibitions. Feyre sauntered up towards Rhysand Spera at such a speed that he was completely taken aback when Feyre took hold of his face and brought his mouth to hers.

***

Rhys was desperately trying not to melt.

The kiss was hot, needy, open mouthed and messy. Alcohol was throwing control out of the window and his hands,  _what the fuck does he do with his hands?_

That was until he realised that he had a drink in one hand, which was now all the way down Feyre’s jumper.

They pulled away. That was far too short.

“ _Rhys,_  my jumper!”

He heard Cassian whistle.

Rhys threw him the finger.

Rhys promised that spilling the drink all over Feyre’s orange jumper  _was_ an accident.  But there were no regrets as Feyre was dragging him through the house and up the stairs, cursing at him.

Now he was thinking about what was underneath Velma’s turtleneck. He was so fucked.

His mind was spinning, and it wasn’t even the alcohol. That kiss had been divine, despite Rhys not being up to his usual sober standards of kissing. Never in a million years did he dream that Velma from Scooby Doo would saunter up to him without hesitation to kiss him.  _Feyre Archeron had kissed him._

They were in a bathroom, it looked empty and unused, and Feyre was ripping off the wet orange abomination of a jumper. It got stuck round her head and Rhys was forced to help her rip it off. She was giggling uncontrollably.

With the jumper, her wig had come off, leaving Feyre’s hair all pinned up beneath. Lifting her up to sit on the counter, he worked instinctively, pulling out hair pins and bobbles and finally unravelling so it felt like silk between his fingers.

“Your turn. I can’t stand you with blonde hair,” she mumbled. She had his wig off, thrown somewhere behind him, and she was dragging her nails through his scalp. Was she planning on killing him?

“We should probably do this when we are sober,” Feyre whispered, like she was trying to convince herself to end it now.

“We should,” Rhys agreed, and he reluctantly made to move away from between her legs but she attempted to hook a leg around his waist. She failed, but it stopped him from moving any further.

“I don’t want to stop,” she breathed. She was holding his gaze. The strap on her orange camisole slipped down her arm and Rhys couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming every inch of her exposed skin before settling on her lips. On what planet could he possibly say no?

He moved more comfortably between her legs again, bringing his hands on her exposed thighs. Just that simple touch was intoxicating, Rhysand was struggling to produce a coherent thought.  Her breath hitched as his hands tentatively moved higher and his lips moved closer.

He brought his mouth to her ear, making sure that she felt his lips move as he said, “What do you want, Feyre Archeron?”

She brought his head back round to face hers with a finger on his jaw, their foreheads were touching and their noses were brushing - never had Rhysand been more content in that moment.

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered as she took one of his hands and moved it higher on her thigh, beneath her skirt, inching towards her heat. Rhys swallowed audibly, trying to pull on any strand of control in his body. “Please,” she breathed out, her eyes half closed and her lips parted. In this moment, Feyre Archeron was the epitome of pure sex. Control was a word that was no longer part of Rhys’ vocabulary.

Rhys snapped, dragging her away from the bathroom because even when drunk he could not worship her properly in there.

It was sloppy, their kisses tasted like a mix of vodka, beer and Sambuca. Though it should have been disgusting, they were too gone to even notice. Rhys was absolutely burning, his jeans were too tight and he desperately needed to feel Feyre’s skin against his. He wanted to taste every inch of her. 

He had her against the door to whatever bedroom they stumbled into and he was pressing wet kisses to her neck as she writhed against him.

“Rhys, shit,” she breathed, grabbing his hands that had discovered her breasts - which were fucking exquisite - and guiding them lower to beneath her skirt.

He grinned, “So demanding,” he said as his hands skimmed up her bare thighs, making her shudder slightly. He pressed lightly with a pad of his finger over her underwear and kissed her jaw before murmuring, “What are the magic words?”

“You fucking prick,” she gasped as he pressed a little harder.

“Wrong answer.” He began to withdraw his hands but she pushed his hand back down beneath her skirt, a hand on his wrist.

“Please,” she whimpered, and he answered her with a kiss, before pushing her underwear out the way to cup her sex, sinking his fingers into her slick folds.

Rhys hips jolted against her as he savoured her wetness. She was grasping his shoulders like her life depended on it as he started to move his fingers in slow, languid circles.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmured into her neck and she whimpered.

Their mouths met again, tongues roaming lazily as Rhys pushed a finger inside of her and he had to press her closer to the door because she almost fell down. She giggled into his mouth but it was cut off by the second finger that entered her and  _fuck._  The noise that just came out of her mouth was positively  _indecent_  and Rhys wanted nothing more but to replace his fingers with his cock. But for now, the hitched breaths and the glassy eyes and the wet, open lips was enough. More than enough. She had lifted one leg to wrap around his waist but it was basically impossible so Rhys used his free arm to hook himself underneath her leg, spreading her wider and her head fell back against the door, allowing Rhys to bite at her neck.

“Talk to me,” she breathed out as he pressed his thumb to her clit while slowly moving his fingers.

 _“_ Do you realise how perfect you feel?” he murmured into her ear. “Babe, you’re soaked. I can’t wait until I can fuck you properly.”

She reached a hand down to palm him over his jeans and his hips jolted. He abandoned her leg to reach for her arm and pin it to the door over her head and she slipped a bit at the new position. He squeezed her wrist slightly, before speaking lowly in her ear, the alcohol allowing him to slip into a tone deeper, “Not yet, let me touch you first.” Her eyes darkened considerably.

Rhys felt like a different person, words he never thought would come out of his mouth did. But Feyre lit the fire in his veins, and he was burning, no searing for this girl that he held against a door. He wanted to make her feel good, he wanted her to come on his fingers then his mouth and his cock. He wanted to categorise every hitch of her breath and moan and whimper. His head was spinning from this all-consuming lust that came over him.

“You have no idea how much I-“ he rubbed her clit once again and she choked out a moan. “I have  _dreamt_  about this. All the ways I have imagined fucking you, worshipping you. Shit, Feyre, when I saw you in that costume tonight, your fucking  _legs_. I kept thinking how they would feel wrapped around me while I fucked you.”

His fingers quickened, and her body was beginning to tense like she was going to topple over the edge at any moment so he took control of her mouth again and he barely stifled the moans as she rode out her orgasm. She went limp against the door, her legs unable to function properly so he pressed against her further, to hold her upright. He withdrew his hand, bringing it to his mouth.  He made sure that her sex addled eyes were watching as he sucked on his fingers.

They remained there for a few moments, looking intently at one another, Rhys running his finger tips up and down her sides – still covered by a camisole that he wished he had taken off at some point.

She began to laugh, “So it was my legs that got you all hot and bothered? Not the turtleneck?”

Rhys snorted, burying his head in the crook of her neck, their chests falling and rising in jolts as they laughed into each other’s skin.

“You caught me, I have a turtleneck kink,” he said, his lips moving over her neck. Her fit of laughter only continued. Rhys savoured the sound, time slowing as he did so.

After a minute or so, he pulled back reluctantly, making sure that his body was still pressed to hers. The feel of her against him was intoxicating. She was so  _soft_.

Her pupils were dilated that he could barely see any of that icy blue, and her lips tilted slightly into a small grin. It was a grin that held sinful promise.

He let her push him backwards, before his legs hit a bed and he fell clumsily. The ceiling was spinning, this dream was a reality. Feyre climbed over him, straddling him before reaching down to pull off her camisole to then work on Rhys’ own shirt. His heart was pounding so fast, his mind could barely keep up with his body. This was actually happening.

She was reaching down to unbutton his horrific blue jeans and the relief was mind numbing as he was freed from his restraints. He fell back against the bed. How was he even supposed to think when her hand was on his cock stroking in a way that his own hand had never been able to achieve?

“Babe,” Rhys slurred. He sat up, Feyre still straddling him in her tiny orange miniskirt, knee high socks and…she had taken off her bra. He was going to die. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her tits. “We probably shouldn’t go all the way.” He swore his voice was raised 10 octaves.

Her lips met his in a kiss so soft that felt so innocent.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said and the innocence completely disappeared as she pressed on his chest to push him back down and the next moment her mouth was on his cock.

 _Fuck fuck fuck._ His hips jolted involuntarily _._ He was worried that he wouldn’t even be able to function with the amount of alcohol in his system and the way his brain was so far detached from his body. But he didn’t need to worry at all, he wouldn’t even be able to last.

The noises she was making were positively obscene as she bobbed up and down. Rhys tried to watch but he was focusing on not coming after 30 seconds so he threw his arm over his eyes, utterly at her mercy.

It was useless, however, as her nails dragged down his abdomen and he just fucking lost it.

“Shit, Feyre, I’m going to-“

His body went tense then he grew limp – absolutely spent after what, one and a half minutes with her mouth on him?

He felt her crawl up his body, her breasts brushing against his chest.

Her lips were swollen and wet and she was the most erotic yet adorable thing he had ever seen.

She pressed a kiss to his lips, but this wasn’t sweet or innocent it was bruising and claiming, he tasted salt and alcohol – a combination when sober that would be disgusting but here in this moment it was utterly divine. She then collapsed to his side and buried her face into his neck.

He felt her hand pat his groin and he noticed how she had tucked him back into his underwear, “We’ll meet again.”

“Did you just talk to my dick?” Rhys said choking on his laughter.

Feyre giggled into his neck, “Maybe.”

He shook his head, an amused smile spreading from corner to corner of his face.

Rhys tried to catch up to reality because at any moment now, he would wake up and end up having to take a cold shower or just get himself off.

“Feyre?”

She mumbled incoherently into his neck.

“Did we just do that?” asked Rhys, the ceiling was still spinning but as he traced his hand up and down her bare back, time seemed to stand still. Feyre had one leg draped across Rhys abdomen and he daren’t move, this was blissful.

“I believe we did. Did you want a memory recall? I kissed you in the garden but you got all your drink spilled on me so we went to the bathroom and somehow that ended up with you fucking me with your fingers, then I gave you a blowjob. The end,” she whispered sweetly into his ear. He pressed her closer, wanting to touch every part of her skin.

He turned his head to look at her, their noses brushing. “What a filthy mouth you have, Feyre Archeron.”

“Says you, I swear when you had me against that door, you said you dreamt about me. That you couldn’t wait until you fucked me properly.”

Just those words streaming from her mouth left Rhys wanting so much more, but her eyes had started to drift.

“It’s true,” he whispered into her forehead, before pressing a soft kiss there. “I’ve dreamt about you. I’ve dreamed about you for a while now.”

A sleepy smile etched onto Feyre’s face, her eyes firmly shut. “I like you a lot, Spera,” she mumbled, before sleep took her.

He soon followed.


	14. Stupid things like boys

It was 6:30 am, according the clock on the bedside table and Feyre’s mouth felt like the Sahara desert.  Rhys was lying on his side next to her, his shirt completely unbuttoned and his jeans unzipped. Feyre  _tried_  not to think about how she was completely topless and bloody freezing. For now, her main priority was to relieve the desperate urge to pee.

She threw her clothes back on and went on her mission of finding a toilet before trying to find the hideous turtle neck that she found dry on the bath, smelling disgustingly of Tequila. She put it on anyway, fighting her heavy limbs and overwhelming nausea to return to the bedroom -passing the door that Rhys had pinned her against last night - which thankfully seemed to be the guest bedroom. She didn’t think Helion would let them live it down if he found out that they had…done things in his parents’ room.

Rhys was still fast off -  _my kids sleep like the dead,_  Ines had put it. Attempting to see whether Rhys was cold she put her hand to his chest and found that he was most definitely unnaturally warm. She tried to convince herself that checking his temperature was the reason for trailing her fingers softly down his chest and not because she simply wanted to touch him.

Rhys’ eyes started to flicker and she withdrew her hand quickly, but had to sit down because her stomach suddenly lurched in protest.

“My god, is this what dying feels like?” Rhys groaned, rolling over on his back and wincing at the movement.

It suddenly hit her in that moment, of the aftermath that was likely to ensue. She couldn’t believe she had given Rhysand Spera a  _drunken blowjob_. She had kissed him in front of  _everyone._ Everyone at the party would know why they went upstairs and didn’t come back down. The mortification overwhelmed her so quickly that she wanted to bury a hole that was 10 feet deep and just lie in it.

Rhys seemed to notice her embarrassment immediately as he sat up, zipping up his jeans awkwardly.

“Hey-“

“Oh god gross, Velma and Fred got it on, this is some Scooby scandal.”

The pair whipped their heads to the door where Cassian was standing in the doorway looking rather drunk still. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, he had taken off his wig (replaced by Lucien’s pirate hat) and he was holding a broomstick. In the other hand he held a McDonalds bag.

Cassian then threw a box of chicken nuggets at them, “Here have some nuggs.”

Cassian’s feet then started moving towards the bed and he collapsed on it, face first, and Feyre winced as she heard the snapping of a broomstick. Their friend lifted his head up and realised he had also squished the brown paper bag.

“Fuck, not my nuggs.” He then proceeded to sit cross legged in front of them, delving in to his McDonalds bag and retrieving his squished chicken nuggets. Rhys caught her eye with a  _what the fuck_  look but she quickly looked away and she was suddenly grateful that Cassian had just barged in here in all his drunken glory. It meant that she didn’t have to face the flaming mortification that was running through her veins every time she looked at Rhys.

_She had her mouth on his co-_

“Are you alright Cass?” asked Rhys carefully. Cassian shook his head, his eyes were beginning to well up.

“I fucked up, man. I really fucked up.” He started sadly chewing on his misshapen food. She thought she might as well get settled if Cassian was going to pour secrets, so she brought her legs on the bed, crossing them like Cassian and eating her own chicken nuggets that he had thrown at them only a few seconds ago.

“I doubt you’ve done anything of the sort, brother,” said Rhys.

Cassian shook his head, “Nah, you don’t understand.” He then looked between Rhys and Feyre, his eyes wide. “Please tell me you wore a condom.”

Feyre felt like she must have resembled a strawberry and Rhys coughed awkwardly.

“…We were safe, Cass,” Rhys eventually said and Feyre was grateful that he didn’t say something like ‘nah man, didn’t go all the way, was just the stuff in between’.

“Thank god,” more tears dropped from Cassian’s eyes, “I love you guys, so much.”

Azriel was right, Cassian was the emotional drunk. Rhys looked to her to say,  _we need to get him home._

It was now a growing struggle to even make eye contact with Rhys and she hated herself for it. She wanted to go home, crawl into bed and dwell on her drunken decisions in misery by herself.

She couldn’t bear the thought of going to school Monday, the news of Feyre Archeron seen going up the stairs with Rhysand Spera  at the Halloween party that would probably make headline news considering that Rhys was Head Boy and was constantly in the lime light.

So, when Rhys told her that his mother would pick them up, Feyre declined his offer and called Nesta.

***

Nesta arrived in her dressing gown, a miserable scowl on her face.

“Do you know what time it is? It’s a damn Sunday,” she growled out as Feyre nearly fell into the passenger seat, standing up was an extreme effort when fighting dizziness, nausea, tiredness and regret.

“Sorry,” Feyre managed to mumble out, it was still quite dark out, dawn not having even broken yet, marking the start of November.

Eventually after a few minutes of listening to the  _positively energy inducing_  Sunday morning radio, Nesta said, “You got with a boy didn’t you?”

“What? How could you possibly tell?” Feyre spluttered.

“Because I know you more than you think.  _And_  you have a suspicious bruise on your neck.”

Feyre pulled at her turtle neck to find that Nesta was right.  _Damn it, Rhys._

“Rhys?” asked Nesta, and Feyre realised she actually verbalised her condemnation of Rhysand. “The kid who is head over heels in love with you?”

Feyre was far too hungover to even process the verity of that statement. “He’s not in love with me,” she mumbled, throwing her head back against the headrest, the motion of the car making the nausea grow worse with every turn.

Her older sister snorted, “Yeah and the sky isn’t blue.”

“It’s grey actually,” observed Feyre as she purposely opened her eyes to watch the oncoming storm.

Nesta turned a corner rather harshly making Feyre’s stomach lurch in protest.

_Bitch._

“So, what did you do with him? Was it just an innocent make out, or did you go full out?” asked Nesta, a slight smile on her face. It was unfamiliar.

Her older sister had never asked about boys before. “Since when did you care about what I do with guys?” asked Feyre rather incredulously.

She shrugged, “It’s what sisters do, isn’t it? Talk about stupid things like boys.”

A drop of rain landed on the windscreen, and Feyre thanked the lord that it gave her the perfect excuse to stay in bed all day.

It felt strange to want to disclose things to her elder sister. The biggest secret that Feyre had told her sister was that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t actually real and Nesta had laughed herself hoarse at her 9 year old sister. Nesta had been a 13 year old witch then. But now, she wasn’t so bad.

“Not sex but…we did certain  _things_.” Feyre thought she must have still been a little drunk.

Their house came into view, and Nesta pulled up with a sly smile. “ _Things_ , hm?” Her older sister made specific gestures in question and Feyre burst out laughing, indicating the ones that she most definitely did do last night with Rhys at the same time as covering her face that had no doubt grown exceptionally red.

Nesta brushed it off with wink before they both climbed out the car together.

It eased the embarrassment at least a little bit.

***

The halls buzzed with the usual petty gossip that bounced along the walls and floors to stretch throughout the entire school.

Every corner Rhysand turned he was faced with knowing looks from Seniors and he had to turn down a high five from a rugby player who told him,  _Feyre Archeron. Nice._

Well, it seemed everyone at the whole fucking party had seen him and Feyre escape upstairs.

Rhysand continued to do what he did best – pretending that everything was normal. Azriel walked beside him shooting menacing glares to anyone who gave him sly thumbs up. The football team including Tamlin were gathered at one corner, and it was almost eerie how they all ceased their conversations just to stand and watch them walk past with twisted grins on their faces. Only Tamlin’s mouth was set into a thin line.

If Cassian were here, he would probably propose a fist fight right there on the vinyl floors of the school halls but Cassian was at home, ill – hungover still, most probably, since he drank his body weight in alcohol. Ines wasn’t a pleased mother on Sunday and had expressed her anger by giving them plain pasta for dinner – completely plain, no sauce and not even salt.

He hadn’t spoken to Feyre since she told him she was getting Nesta to pick her up from Helion’s, and it kind of hurt him to see her avoid his gaze at every possible moment. It was quite obvious she was embarrassed. It wounded him even more so if she regretted it.

Because although Rhys regretted being drunk, he did not regret the things they did. A lot of it was hazy, but it was still imprinted on his mind and he had to get himself off last night just thinking about it. He hated himself for it, that now he had actually gained a physical memory to return to when he was sexually frustrated. He had been trying to get Feyre to text him back all day but to no avail.

The moment he saw her waiting in maths he let a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t that embarrassed to even arrive at school. He wondered whether she had experienced the same morning as he had.

She was doodling aggressively on her pink tinted paper and her face was flushed – probably from the hushed whispers from the bastards in the class who were obviously talking about them.

He noted that she was wearing her Wonder Woman t-shirt.

Taking his seat, he cleared his throat, attempting to catch Feyre’s undivided attention on her aggressive doodling.

Someone whistled and Rhys observed Feyre turn in on herself even more.

 _Fuck this_ , he was Head Boy. He had the authority to shut these idiots up.

“Anyone who believes insolent gossip must have inherited such feeble mindedness. Do something with your boring lives and get a bloody hobby,” Rhys announced, his voice laced with an undertone of threat. He watched as people turned back around in their seats, obviously ashamed at being called out by him. He noticed one of the football players however remained turned towards them, and they sent Rhys a malicious grin before turning back to the front to await their teacher.

He felt Feyre exhale shakily beside him.

“Feyre,” he said lowly. She remained staring at her pad, her doodle were in fact just harsh scribbles, like she was colouring her pink paper in black. “Please talk to me.”

Her voice was completely flat as she said, “Did you know I’ve been called a slut three times and a whore twice? And it’s only first period.”

Rhys’ blood boiled at the inequality of it all. Where Rhys was met with high fives, Feyre was ridiculed.

“Tell me who they are and I will report them to the board,” he assured, trying to offer her some justice.

She let out a little laugh, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were empty and it pained him to see it. “It doesn’t matter. The thing is, it’s not even about what happened Saturday. Tamlin has started a rumour that I’ve slept with basically the entire football team, Lucien and now he’s claimed that I’m starting on you and that I probably will get on Cassian next. Or was it  _Azriel_? I can’t remember,” she threw her hands up mock question. She leaned closer, “The thing is, you’re the third guy I’ve ever been with. Who I’ve ever even  _kissed_.”

Tamlin must be truly hung over Feyre to start spreading such foul rumours. Rhys resisted every urge in his body to walk out of that door and wring his neck between his hands. Alas, Rhys must always resort to non-violent ways to ruin someones life.  _Thanks mum._

Feyre put her head in her hands. “I’m so stupid. This is my entire fault.”

A pang of guilt rang through him sharply.

“Feyre,  _no_. None of this is your fault-“

“ _Rhysand,_ ” said Mr Johnson sharply. And Rhys was obliged to shut his mouth as he watched Feyre return to her colouring. The left side of her hand was being coated with lead but she continued to draw, sometimes making quick sketches of what seemed to be members of the football team to then be stabbed with doodle knives.

He was desperate to talk to her. Tell her that he was glad they did what they did. But then he realised how selfish that sounded because surely drunken handjobs and blowjobs meant nothing to Feyre, especially when they have costed her  _this_  - while he was able to keep his reputation because he was a fucking male. 

The pain was exceptional as Mr Johnson handed out an infernal test, first period Monday morning, eradicating any further chance to talk to Feyre when given tasks.

Today was going to be a long day.

***

Mor had somehow decided to persuade Feyre to eat with them in the canteen at lunch. Mor’s exact words being,  _if you let them get to you, they’re winning. Never let the unworthy win._

Wise words, but easier said than done when Feyre entered the canteen with the familiar looks from the typical mean girls and the typical boys who were now eyeing her up like she was going to throw herself at them next.

Today was an exceptionally bad day, each lesson, certain people would go out of their way to play upon the rumour that Tamlin had somehow spread like wildfire. Apparently, Feyre was not only fucking Rhys, Lucien and some Jake guy that she didn’t even know until today when she was going out with Tamlin, but she was also trying to get on Bron when he was still with his girlfriend.

Their thoughts meant nothing to her, but it was the attention that made her want to curl up on the floor and rock.

Feyre had made her school career out of staying in the background and now, she was in the limelight and it was hitting her at full force.

There were some looks of sympathy, but those were the looks that she couldn’t stand at all. She didn’t need fucking pity. She needed peace and some black out curtains.

The dream team minus hungover Cassian were sat eating as normal and Feyre swallowed at the sight of Rhys.

Mor and Feyre sat, pulling out their packed lunches. Nesta had actually made her a poorly constructed tuna sandwich, but she ate it all the same.

It was a quieter lunch time, the tension between Feyre and Rhys was pretty evident amongst the table, though Mor and Azriel did make conversation between them, with Amren piping up from her texting with Varian every once in a while.

At one moment, Feyre made eye contact with Rhys and the question behind his eyes were perfectly clear,  _please can we talk._  She nodded reluctantly, and they both made a move to stand from their chairs. 

It was like the entire canteen was put on mute as they walked out together, Feyre did her best to copy Rhys in how he walked, with his head up and the casual air of not giving a fuck. But it was difficult to maintain as they exited and she slumped back over in relief, returning to her natural tortoise state of withdrawing in her shell. 

Her mouth was about to open but Rhys took her by the arm and pulled her away and into an empty classroom – away from prying ears.

The air between them was fraught with tension - an even greater amount since they were alone - and Rhys sat at one of the desks while Feyre decided to remain standing and pace instead. This was all her fault, and she berated herself for her drunken mistakes for what seemed to be the millionth time that day.

“I should have never kissed you,” Feyre blurted out. “I’m sorry.”

Rhys looked instantly hurt, and he didn’t make any effort to cover it. “Right, okay,” he croaked out.

Oh no, now she had just probably insulted his ego. “It’s just that, if I hadn’t kissed you, or dragged you upstairs then I wouldn’t be treated by shit by half of senior year. It was a mistake to kiss you. I was drunk and stupid.”

The words only seemed to wound him more as his face became solemn and dejected. Feyre was angry at herself for being so insensitive and angry at him for no apparent reason other than the fact that he was completely unharmed by the aftermath of what they did. It was a vicious circle of unnecessary anger that wouldn’t even be churning in her if it wasn’t for Tamlin’s rumours spreading like the damn plague.

He swallowed thickly before saying, “So, everything we did. None of it meant anything? When you kissed me it was because you were drunk and nothing else?”

Feyre was choking on her own words. It was one thing to admit that you like someone when you’re absolutely pissed and go kiss them, but it was another when you were sober. When you were staring that someone right in the face.

“I think so, yes,” she lied. She didn’t know why. Feyre hadn’t had much practise in the arts of admitting that she liked someone.

He stood up, “Well I think you’re lying.” He was looking at her with so much intensity in that moment like he was willing the words out for her. It infuriated her slightly that he thought that he knew her so well. Fuck, Feyre didn’t really understand herself that much.

“What do you want from me, Rhys? Do you want me to stand here and give you a full fucking signed admission?”

He seemed to splutter on his words, “Yes! That’s exactly what I want from you!”

“Fine,” she spat, “I admit that I’m not like you Rhys. I admit that I can’t just brush off vile rumours as easily as you can. I admit that I really enjoyed what we did Saturday but I’m struggling to even look at you because I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that everyone knows. And I’m angry that Tamlin has twisted something like this into something shitty against me. So now everyone thinks I’m a slut because apparently I’ve been fucking three guys at once. Alright?”

Feyre closed her eyes. She expected today to be awkward, as they had crossed a line that most definitely surpassed any level of platonic relationship. She hadn’t expected to come to school being depicted as the new High School whore, courtesy of her bastard ex-boyfriend and his vile yuppies.

She felt him move closer, and a tentative hand reached out to take her own hand. She opened her eyes. Feyre wanted to trace the frown on his face with her finger and draw on a smile instead.

“They won’t get away with this, Feyre,” he said firmly. “They shouldn’t be allowed to treat anyone like this. But please. Please don’t let them win, they are unworthy winners.”

“That’s exactly what Mor told me.”

“It’s one of my mums sayings,” he said with a small smile.  _He is so, so beautiful._

He swallowed, playing with her fingers. She watched as he traced his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’m glad we did what we did Saturday. I’ll admit that I wish we weren’t drunk, but I wanted you. I wanted you then and I-“

The door to the classroom opened, to find a group of people that Feyre most definitely did not want to see. Rhys and Feyre’s hands slipped apart.

“I don’t think Mr Weaver’s classroom is an appropriate place to fuck now is it,” said Bron with an infuriating grin. He was followed by six members of the football team, including Tamlin.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something right now?” retorted Rhys, “I don’t know, maybe mindlessly kicking a ball around for 90 minutes?”

Where Feyre had began to freeze up in the presence of so many boys who went out of their way in telling her  _keep your legs open Feyre, we want a go_ as she passed them in the hallway at break, Rhys stood with his usual mask of cocky Head Boy swarm. His hands were neatly in his pockets of his black jeans, his head was cocked in arrogance. Instead of inching behind him, however, she stood at his side and attempted to put her greatest face of indifference.

The searing gaze of Tamlin was burning into her skin. Instead of ignoring him this time, she had somehow mustered the confidence to look back. And she held his gaze with such vehemence behind her eyes that he imperceptibly flinched.  _That_  was a win.

The team filtered in through the classroom, casually brushing their hands across desks. One of them closed the door, the soft click permeated through the room.

“Are you big boys going to try and beat me up now?” asked Rhys, he looked at his watch, “We only have 10 minutes to the bell, might as well make it quick.”

The football team sniggered, whereas Tamlin stood stoic by the door, not sharing some of the sadistic smiles of the others.

“Go on, Tamlin,” said Hart, “He’s basically given you an open invitation.”

Feyre’s heart was basically in her mouth when Tamlin stepped forward towards them. So she willed her legs to move in front of Rhys, facing down her ex-boyfriend as he stood just over a metre away. She would not let Rhys become a part of this.

She decided to aim for the heart and take a good stab. “What do you think your mum would say about this?” she spat out and Tamlin’s eyes flashed in hurt.  _Good. “_ She would think how pathetic you are. I don’t understand why you think it’s acceptable to spread bullshit about me. If I had known that you would have been like this then I would have never agreed to be your girlfriend.” She huffed a laugh, “And now, you want to beat up Rhys? In an attempt to assert your ugly masculinity in front of your douchebag friends? If you’re going to throw a fist Tamlin, hit me. I’m the one who  _cheated_  on you after all,  _right_? With Lucien, Rhys and that Hybern guy whose name I only learned _today_.”

She did not understand how she was able to step forward, her body inches from Tamlin’s. Perhaps it was the searing heat running through her veins that did often have the capability to give her such confidence.

“ _Move on,_  Tamlin. Call me a slut and a whore. But you of all people know that isn’t the truth. And you know how much your mother hated liars.”

She stepped back, and the usual anger that would emerge from Tamlin when she fought back wasn’t there. Indeed, Tamlin’s body was tense and his lips were set into a thin line, but it looked as if he were keeping himself in check.

“Let’s go,” Tamlin eventually said, indicating for his friends to leave.

But no one moved. 

“What the fuck man, you said you wanted Spera on the floor?” growled out Hart.

“Is that with physical or sexual intent? I can never tell,” purred Rhys with an infuriating smirk. He actually winked at Hart. 

Hart stepped forward past the desk he was standing behind, coming into the clearing of the classroom only a few short steps from where Feyre and Rhys stood. His fist was clenched.

“I ain’t a damn homo like you or your fucked up family,” Hart grounded out.

“You say such enlightening things,” said Rhys and Feyre touched his arm in warning but he continued.  _You idiot Rhys, you damn idiot._  “Tell me, Hart, do you say that before or after you’re done sucking Bron’s cock for him?”

It was instant. The fist that went flying through the air was enough to make time stand still.

Feyre braced herself, her breath stuck in her throat as she attempt to push Rhys out the way but Hart’s fist was already caught within Rhys’ own.

“Everyone saw that was self-defence, right?” said Rhys as he yanked Hart’s arm so hard that he went flying past them into the teachers desk. Feyre had never seen him  _move_  like that, it was so perfectly executed like he already had practiced such moves before.

The next few seconds could only be described as shock, as each football player looked to each other in silent question.

She felt a hand pull on her arm away from Rhys as the silent whistle blew, and half of Prythian High School’s football team charged at him.

It was something like a movie scene, but not the kind of scene where a badass hero would be kicking down all of its opponents in the blink of an eye. No, this was the kind of scene from a Stephen King novel where the bullies were beating the shit out of its victim.

 _Rhysand wasn’t fighting back._  He let Bron’s fist connect with his face and he didn’t move away when he saw another fist go into his ribs. The sound of fist meeting flesh was sickening and Feyre screamed in protest.

Two hands were holding her arms in a death grip and she kicked and swore,  _she needed to stop this_. Tamlin’s unmistakeable voice rang through her head, “ _Don’t get yourself involved_.”

The classroom door burst open and Feyre thanked all things that had ever existed as Mr Weaver stormed in, students gathering outside the classroom. Tamlin had let her go to help Mr Weaver break it apart, seizing arms back and pushing them away.

Rhys was sitting on the floor, propped up against the teachers desk, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river.

Feyre was suddenly beside him, pulling his face towards her urgently to inspect the damage. His cheek bone was undoubtedly going to bruise, and his jaw was left with similar marks. Blood was pouring over his mouth and down his chin, Feyre scrambling for tissues to stop it.

Her hand was shaking as she pressed the tissues to his nose. A twisted smirk began to emerge on his face and Feyre almost punched him herself.

“You’re a stupid prick,” she snapped out. “Why didn’t you fight back?” People were being dragged out of the room behind her, the shouts of teachers rang through the hallways.

“Your freckles are adorable, especially up close,” he said, his voice ragged.

“Answer my fucking question.”

The tissues were being coated in scarlet and Feyre had nothing else to offer to stop the wretched bleeding. She resorted to tearing a bit of her Wonder Woman t-shirt, pressing the white fabric to his nose.  _Where in the Cauldron were the teachers?_

“I told you they wouldn’t get away with what they’ve started, Feyre. They will have suspension or expulsion on the cards for them right now.  _Violence is not tolerated in any form in Prythian high,_ ” he murmured with a devilish smile, voicing one of their head teachers most used phrases, although he winced from the pain of doing so.

Feyre was torn between giving him a smack around the head and kissing him, because Rhys had just gotten himself beaten up to basically ruin the lives and careers of half of the football team.

“You’re still a stupid prick, Rhysand.”

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the support guys! You're all wonderful!


	15. Happy Birthday Indeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFWWWWW

When Rhys had arrived home that day, the left hand side of his face a smattering of bruises and blood on his shirt, Ines had almost thrown a fit.

Rhys had took it all, he sat down when his mother berated him for getting himself into such a mess, then he was berated for not using his self-defence and martial arts training that all Spera’s went through as a result of his father’s job. She then hugged him and kissed and made him tomato soup.

 _Mothers,_ Rhys thought as Ines was tucking him into bed loaded with a bowl of soup and snacks. It was only a couple of bruises. But was Rhys going to deny all this positive attention?  _Absolutely not._

“Has Cassian been given the same treatment?” asked Rhys, dunking the bread into the soup.

Ines took a deep breath, “Cassian isn’t here.” Rhys looked at her in confusion and it took a few moments for Ines to speak, like she was reluctant to get the truth out. “He left this morning, he wasn’t hungover, he told me that. He just told me that he needed to go somewhere and that he would be back tonight. Then he told me to trust him.”

“ _And you let him go_? Mum, this is strange, you have to admit that.”

Ines slumped on the edge of his bed. “Of course it’s strange! But he is 18 now, and a legal adult. So of course I couldn’t pull out the parent card and send him to his room. Cassian is very capable of taking care of himself, he has texted me that he has been alright throughout the day too, so what can I do?”

“And he said absolutely nothing of where he was going, maybe who he was meeting?” His mother shook her head.

Rhys put down the bowl of soup, rummaging through his memory of anything that may have indicated where Cassian may have gone.

 _I fucked up, man,_ was what he had said Sunday morning to him and Feyre.

When Azriel and Mor had come to visit him, them sniggering over Ines’ smothering of love, they were also clueless of Cassian’s potential whereabouts.

It set Rhys at unease, that his brother could be in trouble somewhere and he could do nothing about it.

_What have you done, Cass?_

***

When Lucien arrived to school on Tuesday, with the news of yesterdays fight still fresh in all the gossip columns, he went to find Feyre.

“Did you hear?” she said in way of greeting as he found her in their usual morning meeting spot.

“Hear what?”

“That all of the football players involved in beating Rhys up have been suspended and kicked off the team. Their University applications have been trashed,” she breathed out in awe, “I think it helps that Rhys was in such a position of power.”

Everything solely relied on Rhys’ position, violence had occurred before but consequences had never been this grave. Lucien wasn’t there to see anything that had happened, he only found a shocked Feyre after the teachers had taken Rhys to get checked and the perpetrators were inspected by the police. It was quite the drama yesterday and it had resulted in him taking Feyre home where they stayed up and watched Netflix. All the while Lucien thought of Tamlin, and how Tamlin had been in that room. Feyre said she didn’t know what had happened to him after he walked out.

“What about Tamlin, has he been punished?” Lucien tried not to seem too worried, but he couldn’t help it.

“No, Tamlin didn’t partake in the violence so he is being put in isolation for the rumours but nothing else,” she said flatly. Lucien exhaled, a little relieved that Tamlin hadn’t been dealt with the same hand.

Lucien walked Feyre to her classroom considering he now had P.E. and he wanted to delay speaking to Tamlin as he was uncertain of how he would have reacted to the incomplete football team with tournaments coming up. No doubt there would be anger displaced on him.

As they reached her room, Rhys strolled towards them, his left jaw and cheekbone darkened by deep purple bruises. He still managed to look as chirpy as ever.

“Ah, my two favourite people,” he announced with a crooked smile. Feyre rolled her eyes but he saw the flash of a smile.

“That’s  _my_  cue to leave, see you later Fey,” he grumbled, but Rhys caught his arm before he walked away.

“Eat lunch with us today. My mum made too many  _get better soon biscuits_  and she wanted me to hand them out.”

Lucien let out a jagged sigh. And reluctantly agreed. But only because Lucien loved biscuits.

***

No one knew it but Nesta Archeron was falling to pieces.

She had a 1st class degree in Journalism yet she was cooped up at home, writing articles on her laptop in hope of being published by someone because her fiancé thought it was best if they focus on his career together and they  _couldn’t do that if Nesta was actively seeking employment._

_Bastard._

Her mother had told her, find a man, get married and have babies in that order. But Nesta hated order, it was a front that had been ingrained in her from childhood. No, Nesta had a tendency for chaos, and she was drawn to commotion like a moth to a flame.

Her sex life was dull and unfulfilling. The fake orgasms were becoming tiresome now, and Thomas was seeing through her half arsed acting.

Last night, she had dreamt about the brute that seemed to be popping up everywhere. She dreamed about his insufferable smirk and his long thick hair and how that picture would look between her legs. He was a lot less annoying in that position when she had ran into him yesterday.

_The endless squeaking of the trolley wheels were beginning to sound like Thomas when he pleaded her to do something. As Nesta threw his stupid fucking alphabet spaghetti tins into the trolley, she looked up to find the giant bastard friend of Feyre’s, who was looking mindlessly at cans of cat food in the next aisle._

_Nesta checked the time, it being 12:25 pm, and she approached him with caution, the squeaking of the trolley doing nothing to aid stealth._

_He looked up with his disgustingly beautiful brown eyes, his hair tied back in a bun. He didn’t look like an 18 year old boy. He looked like a 25 year old man. But he still held the boyish look of his face that hinted at his youth. He seemed to panic for a moment as she neared, hiding some of the contents of his basket behind his back. Nesta missed no detail._

_“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she quipped._

_“Aren’t you supposed to not care?” he fired back, rather defensively._

_She had cocked her head, her eyes narrowed. He swallowed audibly, and Nesta knew a lot about putting on fronts._

_She sighed before saying, “Are you…alright, Cassian?”_

_His eyes lit up in surprise, probably because that was the first time she had actually said his name, but he nodded briskly._

_“Yep, perfect. As much as I would love to talk possibly make out with you right now, I really need to dash.”_

_She rolled her eyes, “What’s with the cat food?”_

_He looked at the tin in his hand in confusion, as if it weren’t cat food at all. “In truth, I’m in this weird kinky sex club where we eat animal food off each other’s bodies.”_

_He was twitchy and nervous, and Nesta felt it was a pointless game trying to squeeze anything out of that hulking body of his._

_“Right. Hope to never see you again,” she said moving forward._

_“I love you too!” Cassian shouted from behind and Nesta let herself smile a little._

Quite frankly, picturing Cassian while Thomas was thrusting into her like a 14 year old virgin made it a little more exciting.

When Cassian didn’t speak or move he was ridiculously attractive. Not that she would ever admit that in real life.

***

“So, what I’m thinking is: pool party with a bouncy castle and sparklers,” announced Rhys, in relation to his birthday celebrations.

“Rhys, it’s November,” said Azriel, biting into his 5th get well soon biscuit courtesy of Ines.

“Our pool is heated and indoors,” protested Rhys.

Cassian snorted, on his 8th biscuit, “He only wants to get Feyre in a bikini so he can gawk at her for hours on end.”

Lucien watched as the Spera brothers bickered while he sat at their table. None of the girls had shown up yet, and Lucien admitted he felt a little out of his depth. The biscuits were nice though.

“No, Rhys. Mum told me to watch out for any of your ridiculous ideas, we’re making our own damn bonfire for your birthday, is that not enough?” asked Azriel.

Lucien realised Rhys’ birthday landed on the 5th of November, Bonfire Night. A stupid tradition really. Why were they celebrating Guy Fawkes failed attempt of blowing up parliament hundreds of years ago? Brits are a bitter sort.

“Mum is now policing my ideas? I’m betrayed.”

“You did get yourself beaten up yesterday,” piped up Lucien. “There’s one of your ridiculous ideas.”

Rhys smiled between his bite of a sandwich, “But does that really hold equivalence to wanting bouncy castles on my birthday?”

No, Lucien guessed it didn’t.

All heads turned to a throat being cleared at the end of the table as Feyre slid in beside Lucien. She nudged his arm in greeting.

Mor stood with a familiar girl with an unfamiliar name. “This is Andromache, her friends are being twats today, so she’s sitting with us.” She shot pointed glares at Rhys and Cassian as if to say,  _don’t embarrass me you bastards._

They feigned shock, as if to say,  _never._

Feyre was pulling out her food as she murmured lowly to Lucien, “Tamlin is looking for you, he even asked me where you were.”

 _Strange_ , if Tamlin actually went up to Feyre and explicitly asked a question that meant progress in terms of moving on, right? He then processed the former part of Feyre’s information, realising that Lucien should probably find him. He wasn’t there in P.E, Lucien realising that isolation meant isolation in that Tamlin was probably stuck in a room somewhere answering questions from a textbook.

He murmured back, “I’m going to go talk to him, saves from the awkwardness of him finding me here.” She nodded and he paid his farewells to the dream team which received a dramatic  _we’ll miss you babe_ from Rhys.

It didn’t take long to find Tamlin as he was standing right outside the canteen.

“I saw you with them,” he said in greeting. Lucien looked back and sighed. No use lying.

“Yeah, well, Rhys had biscuits so,” Lucien awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Do you know how much it fucking pains me to see Feyre all loving it up with them, and now you’ve joined them too?”

Lucien saw how the hallway was probably not the best place to have this conversation so he started to walk and hope that Tamlin would follow. Thankfully he did.

“Tamlin, it was a one off thing. And you’re in isolation at the moment. I stuck with you even though you know I hated all your football friends.” Lucien pushed open the west block doors to face the bitter windy air of November.

“And now they’re gone because of Rhysand fucking Spera.”

Lucien assessed how Tamlin stood, it was as if his muscles were tense all the time, like it was his body just being permanently on the edge of throwing a punch. These counselling sessions seemed to be either useless or taking their time to kick in.

“And your point is, Tamlin? Do you want to go beat up Rhys now?”

Tamlin shot a glare as if to say,  _do you honestly think I’m that stupid?_

“Listen, I can’t just wait around after you when you’ve been in isolation all day. Feyre is still my best friend.”

“And you were mine, but things change don’t they?” Tamlin spat out and Lucien flinched. He should have seen this coming.  No matter how much he disagreed with Tamlin, or hated him sometimes for the things he has done, it still hurt to think it was all ending outside the east block building as the wind started blowing the last orange leaves from the trees.

“I’m sorry,” was all Lucien offered.

“No, you’re not. But you will be, when you’re in trouble and you have no one there to save you.”

_What was that supposed to mean?_

Tamlin walked away with that, leaving Lucien to mull over his words.

***

It was Wednesday, the eve of Rhys’ birthday and Feyre was sitting in the lounge of the Spera house looking at baby photos of Rhys as Ines cried about how her last boy was becoming 18.

He was the chubbiest baby, with Michelin Man style legs and arms and the fattest cheeks that put some squirrels to shame. Rhys was currently residing elsewhere in the house,  _dying,_  as he had put it. Feyre tried not to think about how if she had babies with Rhysand, she hoped they would be this fat because god were chubby babies adorable.

Somehow, after dinner, Ines had suggested to pull all the photo albums out receiving audible groans from Mor, Cassian, Lena, Rhys and even Azriel. So while they spent time elsewhere, Feyre decided to accompany Ines and take mental pictures of each and every one of the Spera clan when they were young for receipts.

There was one of Rhys and Mor when they were toddlers, with cheesy grins as they stood side by side holding hands.

The first pictures of Cassian were a shock because he was so skinny and small. Similar with Azriel, his face was hollowed out and he rarely smiled freely in photos. But as time progressed, Cassian tripled in size and Azriel would start smiling. Ines was telling her how she found them, how Cassian had been in a nearby foster home and started to play with Rhys in the streets. How the first thing Cassian had done when he had seen Ines was give her a slightly damaged daisy chain and hugged her for letting Rhys play out with him. With Azriel it wasn’t as nice of a story, with Rhys bringing home a terrified child for tea and Ines filing a child abuse investigation. Ines was quite possibly one of the most spectacular women on earth.

They turned to a photo of Rhys at his 11th birthday, he had a cake of Batman in front of him. Ines began to sob.

“I just, I can’t believe he’s going to be this old,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry Feyre, you probably don’t want to be hearing this.”

Feyre protested, “No, it’s fine!” In fact, just seeing Ines like this made Feyre envious. She doubted her own mother would ever whip the three baby photos she had taken of Feyre and cry over them. She doubted her mother would even come and see her for her birthday, just probably send a card and a cheque. Considering now that her father had been homed in a psychiatric ward, her mother had no obligation.

Ines then proceeded to take Feyre’s hand, “I’m so glad that you’re here with us.” She wiped at her eyes, “You’ve really become a valuable member of this family.”

Feyre almost sobbed with her.

“Everyone is just so fond of you, especially Rhysand,” Ines added with a bright smile, “He will be so glad you’re here on his birthday.”

When Mor told her that Feyre could stay round theirs tonight, she felt intrusive. She wasn’t a true member of this family, but everyone made her feel the opposite. It was like she had been adopted herself.

Feyre thanked Ines, truly, deeply. For everything that the Spera family had done for her in the past few months. Just being someone to turn to.

***

It had just passed 2:00 am and Feyre was thinking about Rhysand Spera. She was thinking about his too perfect smile and his stupid jeans and his painfully soft hair that Feyre wanted to run her hands through.

She was thinking about the way he had kissed her when they were drunk. She was thinking about his hands, the way they had touched her and worked her and worshipped her. She was thinking about his lean body, the muscles of his arms and the way they had pressed her to the door of Helion’s guest bedroom.

Her mind was torn between snaking her hand down between her legs to lift this frustration and get some damn sleep or going to find Rhys to do it for her. She decided on the latter.

 Feyre admitted it to herself, she wanted Rhys - emotionally, physically, sexually - she wanted to experience him when sober.

That’s how Feyre found herself silently padding her way to Rhys’ bedroom on his birthday in the early hours of Thursday morning, the 5th of November.

 She knocked so silently, that she felt stupid for even coming. Of course, he would be asleep. But the door opened in front of her and Rhys emerged from the darkness of his room. He was only wearing his boxers and Feyre ripped her eyes from his chest to find his face and he greeted her with a yawn and a smile.

 It was a sleepy smile.

Before she could even open her mouth, he had taken her hand, pulling her into his room and shutting his door with a soft click. They stood before one another, a too large distance apart.

 “I was just thinking about you,” he whispered.

 “I was thinking about you too,” she whispered back, like it was a secret that she had never shared before.

The darkness of his room made it nearly impossible to see him. Feyre didn’t know what made her reach out to trail her fingers down his chest but she was glad she did as she heard a soft exhale escape his mouth.

Her fingers stopped when she felt the soft cotton of his boxers so she let them rest on the elastic waist. Her arm hung between them like a question and there was simply too much space that separated their bodies.

“Happy birthday,” she breathed.

“Happy birthday, indeed,” he purred, his voice as soft as silk.  “Stay there,” he then said. And he left her in the darkness. She watched the faint outline of him approach his draws and he was pulling out his clothes.

  _No no no,_ she wanted to say.  _I want our clothes off._

She was entranced by him, by his presence, by this intoxicating tension between them. He moved with the darkness like it was his friend, and eventually he returned to her.

He lifted her arms vertically in the air and she felt him pull on a long sleeve t shirt down her body, his fingers skimming her sides so painfully that she had to resist every urge to just stop him and pounce. A hoodie then was placed over her body, Rhys repeating the same ritual – he pulled it on with his fingers faintly brushing at her sides. Even when clothed, she felt the searing heat of his fingers.

His clothes that were on her were baggy but warm and she had no idea what he was doing. But, she was rooted to the spot and she would have let him do anything to her in that moment. It scared her slightly that she thought that.

With a soft kiss to her forehead, he moved away and started pulling on his own clothes, long sleeve t – shirt, hoodie, pyjama bottoms and even some socks and shoes. There was something more domestic about watching him dress, even if she could only see the faint outline of the whole show. She enjoyed seeing how he moved, with precision and fluidity even when it was so dark.

 It was only until she heard the jingle of keys being picked up from his desk did she realise.

 “Let’s go for a ride,” he murmured in her ear, as he entwined his hand with hers.

 ***

The November wind was biting, but the warm air from the Camaro’s heater and the layers of Rhys’ clothes provided protection. Never had she felt so comfortable, huddled into Rhys’ hoodie. He made a mistake because he was most definitely not getting it back.

The hum of the car was almost lulling her to sleep but her eyes remained glued to how the street lights would illuminate the contours of Rhys’ face that almost made him look unearthly. She was particularly entranced by his arms, the way they were shifting gears and it was almost erotic just watching him drive.

“You’re very quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice was rich and it coated Feyre’s skin like honey. She would not deny that she was absolutely turned on right now and she did not look away at all when Rhys would find her watching him so openly.

 “I’m enjoying the view,” she whispered and she swore on all things good that Rhysand just blushed.

They were driving through the estates, past the school and into the suburbs. The night was blissfully quiet, and Feyre told herself to stay up late more often just to be a peace with the darkness.

At some point they had stopped – it could have been 5 or 20 minutes, Feyre couldn’t tell - and Rhys turned off the engine, the hum of the engine now replaced with distant sound of crickets.

Before them were what must have been endless hills concealed in a blanket of night. In the distance the lights from the nearby town created a mirage of sorts.

It was already 2:30 am, and Rhys noticed her glance at the time and wink, “Sleep is for the weak.”

“And what do you suggest we do other than sleeping?” asked Feyre innocently.

“I don’t know, I was thinking we could just sit here and listen to crickets communicate to be honest,” said Rhys.

Feyre huffed a laugh. She unbuckled her seatbelt, bringing her legs up on the seat.

“A thought for a thought?” asked Rhys.

There were a billion thoughts going through Feyre’s head at that moment that she could choose one at random and it would most likely be something about Rhys.

“I’m thinking how safe you make me feel,” she settled for.

His lips turned up softly. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

He hesitated before he spoke, “I’m thinking that I don’t think I could ever get enough of you. I’m thinking I want you so badly it hurts.”

Her heart pounded at his admission, and Feyre didn’t think she could stand the space between them for much longer.

The silence between them was thrumming with energy, Rhys was looking at her like she was studying him, the moonlight cascading down the unmarred side of his face. The desire to read the words behind his eyes scared her a little.

“Can I touch you?” she asked. She watched as his mouth opened as he was grasping for words before he choked out a  _yes._ “You might need to push your seat back.”

Rhys realised what she intended and he shot up, frantically pulling at levers on the side of his chair as she giggled.

“Birthday boy is eager,” she teased as she began to ease herself over the console. She tried to do it casually but it was awkward mess of limbs and Rhys ended up having to help to pull her across.

She fell into his lap, straddling his legs. “I swear that was supposed to be sexy.”

“You could wear a bin bag and dance to Copacabana and I would probably still be turned on by you,” said Rhys, his hands resting on her thighs, the heat radiating through her fluffy pyjamas. Feyre let out a small laugh and Rhys reached up to trace her mouth with his finger.

Maybe it was because she was tired and delirious, or maybe she was just simply drunk off  _him,_  that made her take his index finger into her mouth and suck gently, slightly scraping her teeth against his knuckle.

The mood instantly changed, Rhys’ eyes flickered in response and she shivered at the intent behind them.

He let out a shaky breath, as Feyre took his wrist and brought it down from her mouth to rest on her thigh once again. The air between them was almost magnetic; the pull towards him was growing stronger by the second.

So Feyre leaned forward slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to Rhys’ lips because by god did she want to and withdrew tentatively. With half lidded eyes, he swallowed audibly. He seemed to be attempting to exercise restraint, but Feyre noticed how his hands had tightened on her legs. The moonlight casted a grey hue on his skin and he looked ethereal, like he belonged in a different world. She wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.

“Do it again,” he said softly.

Feyre obliged him.

Where the simple kiss that Feyre had pressed to his lips beforehand was innocent and cautious, the next kiss was almost like a crescendo. It built up and up and up until the starting slow and languid kisses turned into a desperate urge to explore further. Tongues met with fervour and teeth scraped themselves against bottom lips. Feyre wanted to learn every inch of him, not just his mouth.

Her hands were now desperate to touch his skin and it was as if he felt the same as way they moved to undress each other, shedding the layers of Rhys’ clothing quickly, throwing them somewhere else in the car until their chests were bare. Feyre was sure Rhys’ eyes were roaming her own chest like she was his, the intimacy of being this close and sober was enough to make Feyre have to count to ten silently in her head.

Feyre mapped all the bruises that scattered his torso. She never ever wanted to relive anything like watching him get hurt ever again.

“I’m fine,” he said, probably watching her face line with worry.

“Promise me you will never do anything like that again,” she demanded, placing her hands round the back of his neck.

“I don’t know if I can, I kind of like getting beaten up. The bruises kind of give me that bad boy vibe.”

Rhys yelped as she tugged at the back of his hair harshly. “ _Rhys_ ,” she warned, her brows raised.

“Fine, fine. I’ll find other ways to ruin lives,” he sighed mockingly, a knife edged smile on his face.

It was a peculiar feeling that was dwelling deep in her stomach, as she rolled her eyes. His hands started roaming over her skin now, up and down her back, mapping her stomach, arms and shoulders. Not touching her breasts though, as if he was waiting permission, but she watched how his eyes would lower and stare at them for at least 5 second intervals. It was all rather amusing. She finally gave him a slight nod and he exhaled heavily.

“I should probably tell you now that I don’t have a condom,” said Rhys as let his fingers trail over her breast making her shiver in response.

“Wow, someone was aiming high,” she teased.

“Shut up.” He pouted, and Feyre put a finger to each corner of his lips and pulled them upwards. It worked.

“It would have been too difficult in this position anyway,” Feyre admitted trying not to sound too disappointed.

“You wanted to have sex in this car, didn’t you?” he asked, nipping at her fingers that were now tracing his mouth.

She shrugged,  _yes she totally did_ , her eyes glinting. “I was basically eye fucking you when you were driving. I don’t think I’ve ever been as turned on by watching someone do something as mundane as driving.” She didn’t understand why she was freely saying these dangerous thoughts, but it was completely worth it as Rhys let out a dark chuckle and pulled their bodies closer together.

And _oh,_  she felt him, hard and wanting underneath the layers clothing they both wore on the lower halves of their body. She resisted every urge to start grinding, but she shifted a little while bringing her hands to his shoulders and his neck and the jagged groan that erupted out of his mouth was insatiable.

“You’re killing me,” he said, bringing their torsos together, her breasts pressing to his chest and his hips jolted slightly at the contact inciting a sharp gasp from Feyre’s own mouth. She smiled as his eyes were screwed up in what seemed to prayer. “Ah fuck this is so embarrassing,” he murmured.

“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious as to why he was getting flustered suddenly.

“Because I can barely control myself when you touch me,” he admitted, his eyes finally opening. Their noses brushed.

Feyre was quite enjoying how flushed he was getting. She liked seeing him so out of control, it was quite erotic seeing Rhys so unleashed. Pressing his buttons was infinitely rewarding.

“Did you know I was going to touch myself before I decided to come and see you tonight?” she whispered onto his lips. She watched his Adams apple bob and his lips part as her hand snaked down between them, trailing low on his abdomen.  

“No,” he said shakily.

“I kept thinking about you, about your hands. How your fingers felt when they were inside me. I kept wondering what your cock would feel like. And now I’ve had you in my mouth, I want you in my-“

“Feyre,” he gasped out as Feyre gently pressed her hips further down on his, “You’re doing this on purpose you little minx.”

She brought her head back and tilted it innocently, “What?”

“God I knew you had a dirty talk kink. You and your filthy mou- ah  _fuck_.” He looked genuinely pained when she grinded once down on him in torment.  

She couldn’t help the endless giggles that spurt out of her mouth as Rhys glared at her, shaking his head. His attempt to press his mouth into a thin line did nothing to conceal the tugging of his lips.

Her hips rolled against him in response so sinfully that Feyre lost a bit of composure while doing so and she let out a ragged exhale. Rhys was most definitely affected which was evident by the way he was gripping on to her hips to keep her still as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder.

“Babe, you’re seriously going to have to stop doing  _that,_ ” he groaned out, and Feyre’s insides almost turned to mush at the term of endearment that only seemed to slip out when they were in positions like this.

He managed to recover slightly, he said breathlessly, “I can play at your little games Feyre Archeron.”

Her moment of control soon deteriorated as Rhys started pressing kisses across her collarbone, his body tilting hers back and lifting her up slightly on her knees to gain a bit of access. His mouth trailed further down as his hands trailed upwards on her sides. Feyre threaded her hands through his hair to ground herself as Rhys reached her breasts. His tongue was pressed against her nipple to be then replaced by the soft graze of his teeth and  _holy shit._ It was soft, teasing touches, his hands were brushing around her breasts but not squeezing or holding – it was far more sensual than she could have ever imagined.

“I really fucking love these, you have no idea,” he said as worked on her other breast.

She was becoming sick of the attention that was drawn on her chest so she manoeuvred herself back down to straddle his lap, their cores pressed together. The need to get off in that moment was so overwhelming. She wanted it so desperately that she hoped her bruising kiss would be enough to convey her feelings.

“Please Rhys, I need you to-“ He jutted his hips into her and she choked on a moan.

They started grinding shamelessly on one another, both of them seeking that release but there were simply too many damn layers between them. There was a slight tangle of limbs as Feyre started to wiggle off her fluffy pyjama bottoms and Rhys had to hold her against him as she got them past her knees, it ended in fits of laughter as Feyre had some elbowed Rhys in the face while doing so.

Rhys wiggled out of his own pyjamas, leaving them in their underwear before one another.

Rhys’ voice almost broke as he said, “You’re wearing Star Wars pants.” Feyre looked down to realise that he was right, the Storm Trooper print on her cotton underwear were probably not the most sexiest of underwear to have put on this morning. “I have the exact same ones but in boxer form.” He looked at her with eyes shining proudly and Feyre almost snorted from laughter at how enamoured he was looking at her right now.

She kissed him deeply, the smiles soon disappearing as Feyre lowered herself once more on Rhys and they both moaned simultaneously at the contact. Now, Feyre could  _feel_  him so much closer now with the layers gone, the slight friction of their underwear providing that extra sensation.

The car was filled with heavy breathing and soft moans. Feyre felt herself building but _it wasn’t enough it wasn’t enough._

Feyre pulled her mouth from Rhys’ to take his hand and guide it into her underwear and he obliged immediately, sliding his fingers past her curls and along her slit until it reached that one spot.

“Look at you,” he murmured as their foreheads were pressed to one another, his eyes were roaming up and down from his hand in her pants to her half lidded eyes. His fingers weren’t even inside of her but he rubbed harder and she came with his name on her lips.

Her body was slack and her knees were aching from straddling him for so long but she immediately noticed that he was still hard. But he watched her patiently, his hand slowly withdrawing and he trailed her slickness up her body and over her breast until it reached her mouth. She was so overcome by this tingling sensation in her body that she didn’t hesitate as she brought his fingers into her mouth once again.

Rhys’ eyes flickered and his head fell back as he watched, his jaw clenched.

“I’ve realised something,” she said as she reached into his boxers, wrapping her hand around his cock.

“What,” he gasped out as her thumb brushed over the wetness at his tip.

“Your kink. You have a fixation to my mouth,” she said slowly. Her nail scraped slightly down the side of his cock and his breath hitched as his whole body tensed and he came with her name on his tongue like a prayer.

It was slightly messy, and it took a few moments of Rhys grabbing a long sleeve t-shirt to wipe remnants of him off her hand.

“You’re partially right,” he said, slumping back against the chair, his eyes beginning to close, “I am fixated to your mouth. But I’m also fixated to your eyes, your skin. Your hands and your legs. I’m pretty obsessed with your tits and your hair too. I’m fixated to your Star Wars underwear and your Wonder Woman t-shirt and the way you call me a prick. You’re entire existence is pretty much my kink, Feyre.”

The three words flashed over her eyes so quickly that Feyre shivered, Rhys immediately mistook it for the cold and he was pulling a hoodie over her and pulling her close.

“We can’t sleep here, we have to be awake and up for school in 4 hours,” she said into his neck.

“Let’s not go to school tomorrow, it’s my birthday. Let’s just stay in bed all day so we can finally have sober sex in a  _bed_  – with condoms.”

“How romantic,” she sighed theatrically and his chest rumbled with laughter.

Her eyes started to close and he held her tighter, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. She hadn’t expected the night to end this way, with sitting in a car while the moon poured over them, with kissing and even more handjobs that Feyre felt exceptionally satisfied from. There were still hundreds of unspoken words between them, and it was almost becoming a game – who could refrain from speaking them first for the longest.

They seemed to resort to their sexual desires first over their emotional ones, but for now, it was enough.


	16. Let it be a lesson

Rhys was trying to convince himself that he was awake before he almost face planted the kitchen table.

“Couldn’t sleep over how excited you were about your birthday, brother?” grinned Cassian, stuffing the last remains of his bacon sandwich into his mouth. “Or was it just the fact that you sneaked off with Feyre in the dead of night?”

When Rhys arrived home, holding a near unconscious Feyre upright against him, Cassian had spotted them after taking a trip to the bathroom. When his brother saw Rhys guiding Feyre along the landing, Cassian had merely given Rhys the most infuriating grins and had said,  _Guess you’re a very happy birthday boy._  Thankfully Feyre was basically asleep against him when Rhys glared at his brother with enough vehemence that it was the equivalence of throwing the middle finger.

“Shut the fuck up, Cass. Might as well just tell mum outright,” snapped Rhys.

“Oh, I already know,” said Ines as she sauntered into the kitchen, pressing a big kiss on Rhys’ cheek. “Happy Birthday, my gorgeous boy.”

“Did you tell her, you bastard?” Rhys asked Cassian.

Ines snorted, moving round the kitchen to where Azriel was making bacon. “I heard both of you leave at about 2:00am. I’m a light sleeper, Rhysand. Nothing in this house happens without me knowing.” She then threw a wink, “As long as you’re being safe-”

“ _Mum_ , dear god no,  _please_  stop.”

His brothers sniggered while Rhys wallowed in his own mortification. 

Morrigan and Lena then paraded into the room, pulling party poppers generally making an unnecessary amount of noise at a god awful hour of the morning. Rhys was thankful for the distraction. Feyre trailed behind, looking lined with fatigue but it was as if she knew how to handle tiredness like it was second nature.

He tried not to look at her for too long. He failed.

Everyone sat down to eat some of Azriel’s prized bacon sandwiches. His mother was talking about something along the lines of presents but it was going through one ear and out the other as his eyes kept being drawn to Feyre and how her eyes would flicker to him every couple of moments or so. He watched as her mouth tilted upwards slightly and Rhys gulped down his sandwich to distract himself.

Last night, he was so close to telling her. So close to telling how he has been in love with her for the past three years. But the words were always stuck in his throat simply because Rhys didn’t think he could ever believe Feyre would feel the same way. Rhys couldn’t help but feel that Feyre saw him as someone for sexual gratification rather than as a potential boyfriend considering she was the first one on both accounts to incite sex. But if all she wanted was sex, then he would take it. Because having something was better than nothing at all.

***

Lucien felt them following. It was like a target had been branded on his back and they were aiming down their sights, their fingers on the triggers.

The first time it was at the petrol station where he saw two of them. It was Bron and some other footballer – Cairn,  he recalled – sitting in their classic car, watching Lucien’s every move as he filled up. He didn’t think anything of it, it was a public and well used petrol station by students.

The second time was when he was driving home on Wednesday, the same car was tailing him, even when he took a detour to get home. When he eventually got home, a little shaken from the sheer prospect of being invaded in such a way, he found a letter addressed to him. 

It contained a simple small note,  _welcome to the end of your life,_  it wrote.

Even as he drove to school that morning, their car tailing him from a distance. It had Lucien checking in his mirrors every few seconds in paranoia in case they decided a car accident was the best way to ruin his life.

When he saw Feyre’s familiar face in the hallway, talking to Rhys outside their English class, his legs surged forward. Preparing to take Feyre somewhere private he realised that Rhys was a potential target too, considering that they would easily have inclination to.

“Did you get a letter?” he asked immediately, Feyre turned to him in confusion.

“What letter? I didn’t go home last night.”

 _Shit_. “Did you?” he asked Rhys.

“Lucien, I have dozens of letters waiting for me when I get home. Please specify.”

Lucien dragged his hand down his face in frustration. The school bell rang like sirens in his ears.

“Doesn’t matter,” he uttered out. “It’s just a school letter about…University,” he lied.

Despite the protests from the pair he rushed past, keeping his head down as he passed the remaining football team. Lucien didn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he was sick of being a victim. He fingered the knife in the front right pocket of his jeans. Let it be a lesson to those who think it is fun to play with fire.

***

_Dear Miss Archeron,_

_It is of my intention to contact you concerning your recent articles on the ‘Necessity of politics within education’, and ‘The ever present nature of Sexism around the Globe’. Your points were exceptionally thought provoking and your writing skills were of expert nature. I am enquiring on behalf of the Independent to invite you to a job interview as a Newspaper Reporter. Please email me back for further information._

The words of that email were imprinted on Nesta’s mind as she shoved a disgustingly large amount of mustard on Thomas’ sandwich. He hated mustard.

“I’m going for a job interview,” she announced as she placed the plate on his makeshift desk of the dining table.

He looked up at her in confusion, “Honey, I’m still on my law internship.”

“Great. And I’m going for a job interview.”

“I thought we  _agreed-“_

“Well that agreement is over,” she snapped, placing her hands on the table. She hated that she allowed her mother to persuade her that she should support her partners’ career rather than seeking her own. She had written far too many articles on feminism now to let herself be dismissed as her fiance’s little subject.

“I don’t like your fucking tone,” he said lowly, rising from his chair.

Nesta gave him a sharp, tight lipped smile. “What a shame.”

“You’re being a difficult little bitch recently, Nesta,” he growled out. “I’m trying my best to make things comfortable for you.”

“Are you?” she cocked her head. “Can you not see how unhappy I am? How I’m sick already of what being married to you will have to offer?”

She revelled in how Thomas’ eyes narrowed in hurt. “We’re getting married in 5 months, Nesta. I suggest you putting a bit more fucking effort into our relationship. I haven’t missed how dejected you are when I have sex with you. I haven’t missed how you just dumped fucking mustard in my sandwich.”

Nesta seethed, venom seeping through her body, climbing its way up her throat and out of her mouth. “Maybe if you learned where a fucking clitoris is Thomas, we wouldn’t have that problem. And make your own damn sandwiches.”

It was a relief really, as Nesta stormed out of the kitchen.She wanted to hurt him, make him feel small like the little man he was. 

Thomas was the man everything her mother approved of. A conservative Alpha male, with a promising career to provide security and a comfortable life style.

But this wasn’t what Nesta had grown to want. Maybe it was sitting at home all day writing and researching about women and politics and inequality that made her look at Thomas with growing disdain.

Maybe it was simply living with him that hah shed a different light on the man Nesta once thought was her end game - considering at University they had never spent as much time together as Nesta was dedicated to her studies. 

At some points, there were fleeting moments of their relationship which were good and decent and what Nesta wanted. From the flowers he had sent her when her mother first set them up, to the promise of safety that he would assure her. But she was sick of trying to settle for fleeting moments.

***

Feyre was currently mulling over Lucien’s strange behaviour. Perhaps it was something that he felt he needed to solve on his own, Feyre had experienced many situations of the sort, independence coming to her like second nature thanks to being deserted by her sisters and mother and forced to help her father. Her father was now in a mental ward, being treated for his PTSD and his severe depression. When Feyre visited over a week ago, he hadn’t spoken a single word, as if he were no longer bone or skin, but shame and emptiness remained. Her knee was bouncing in time with the pace of her growing anxiety until eventually a hand pressed down on it, preventing it from moving.

Rhys gave her a comforting look, squeezing her knee slightly – which was all he could offer as their teacher droned on about coursework deadlines.

It was becoming exceptionally hard to deny the electric charges that passed through Feyre every time Rhysand would touch her. They had a tendency to remind her of where his hands had roamed before. She fought the flush that was creeping up her body at the thought.

“I hope you’re thinking of me and not Mr Carver in his tweed suit,” he murmured lowly, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek briefly and Feyre scowled that her body betrayed her so easily.

“I’m just hot.”

“Indeed, you are,” he purred.

She shot him glare, not wanting to admit that she was actually thinking about him. But by the way he was looking at her she knew that he already read everything that was going through her head.

Rhys sat back with an insufferable smirk.

_Damn you, Rhys._

She realised then that he had distracted her from her thoughts on Lucien, but she was somewhat grateful. At some point, she thought, she would talk to Lucien since he was so reluctant to disclose whatever was on his mind.

“You’re coming back to ours again for tonight?” he asked when they were finally allocated with a task.

“Yeah, but your present is at my house so can we go there first,” she said and watched his eyes light up.

“You got me something?”

“ _Duh_ , it’s your birthday.” Feyre didn’t know why he looked so surprised, she had gotten gifts for Cassian and Azriel.

She watched as he attempted to supress the grin spreading from either corner of his face but he ultimately failed. It gave her endless butterflies just watching him.

“Is it something sexual?” he whispered, his eyes alight in mischief.

Of course, his stupid teenage boy mind would make him resort to such ideas but Feyre couldn’t help herself as she said, “Maybe.” She inched closer, her voice lowering with every word. “I’ll give you a hint. It involves my mouth and your…” she trailed her hand up his jean clad thigh, pausing slightly before his groin in answer.

She watched him swallow and his hand tightened around his pen. They were shoulder to shoulder now.

“Now  _I know_  you’re thinking of me and not Mr Carver in his tweed suit,” she mimicked before moving away, reaching for her pen and getting to work on the task given.

The searing heat of his gaze pierced her skin for the rest of the lesson.

***

Rhys was being dragged by the hand through Feyre’s house where he gave a hasty  _hello_  to Nesta who was sitting in the living room. The eldest Archeron sister shot him a pointed glare but Feyre was already pulling him up the stairs. As soon as he was pushed into Feyre’s new desk chair courtesy of Rhys himself, he said, “Wow that does not send a message at all.”

He watched as Feyre scowled. “I don’t care. Nesta can think what she wants. I was avoiding Thomas.”

 _Ah, that douchebag_. “What has he done now?”

“The usual level of creepy.” She waved her hand, “Anyway, we need to get back to your celebrations, can’t hold you for too long.”

Her room always seemed to be on the verge of tidy and messy. Where her bookshelf was immaculate, her bed was half hazardly made and her desk was covered in art. It was an organised mess, however. It only made Rhys smile internally as her room reflected all things Feyre. 

“Here,” she stood before him with a black box in her hands. She seemed apprehensive, if biting her lip and fidgeting were any indicators. He took the box, Feyre choosing to sit at the end of her bed making Rhys swivel his chair to face her.

It was lighter than he expected, and he began to lift the top before Feyre stopped him with a squeaked out  _wait._

“I’m sorry, it’s just- I…” she trailed off. “I didn’t have that much money to spend on you and I-“

Rhys cut her off right there, because he couldn’t bear the thought that she felt worried about something so insignificant. “Feyre, whatever is in this damn box, I will love it because it came from  _you.”_

 _“_ Even if it’s something gross like a dying pigeon?” Feyre said, her eyes reigniting with that familiar warmth.

“Even then,” he said. But before he lifted the lid, “Please tell me it’s not a dying pigeon.”

“Open it!”

So he did, and the box was filled with a few items, the one most prominent catching his eye and he pulled it out. He held out a Wonder Woman t-shirt before him, an almost exact replica to her own.

“I bought one for you considering you are always staring at mine,” she chimed in nervously.

 _Yep, I was always definitely staring at the shirt, not your tits underneath. Never ever._ But Rhys couldn’t stop his growing smile as he took off his t-shirt right there to replace it with his new one. He looked up to find Feyre staring at him intently, before coughing awkwardly. 

“There’s more,” she said.

The next item he picked out the box was a picture, of him and Feyre at the Halloween party. The picture captured him as an overly happy drunken Fred, with Velma pressing a kiss to his cheek. He pulled out another picture from behind, it was a sober one this time. It was a selfie of just him and Feyre at Azriel’s birthday, he recalled.

“I thought you could put them on your wall, you know, with your other pictures,” she suggested timidly and Rhys felt his heart physically swell. He gave her the brightest smile of his just because words had failed him. Hell, he would make a whole new wall of pictures just so she could be the centerpiece.

There was a final item, it was in a picture frame. An evident smaller copy of the original, Rhys lifted the art project Feyre had painted of him out of the box. Rhys had never seen himself from her perspective, from how she interpreted him through that magical mind of hers. The painting was a mix of dark, Rhys’ face in the middle was surrounded by tendrils of black smoke. His eyes were a deep violet, his face in a resting position and Rhys felt the ghost of fingers tilting his jaw towards her window. His hair almost blended into the darkness of the background.  Flecks of blues and purples in the background simulated a nights sky which created the stark contrast to the bronzed skin of his. He looked magical almost, sinister yet powerful.

“I only got a stupid B,” Feyre said with a tentative smile, “My teacher thought that it was obvious that self portraits had to be realistic. She didn’t like the fantasy aspect. Though I liked it. It’s how I see you in the little world of mine that lives in my head.” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe she had admitted such a thing. “I mean, if I had just drawn a normal portrait of you then that would be beautiful too and I probably would have gotten a better grade but I just got carried away.“

The words climbed up his throat so quickly that he had to force his mouth closed before they could escape. He hoped that when he leaned forward, bringing his head towards Feyre’s and pressing a soft kiss to her mouth would stop the words from escaping, but it only unleashed the emotion behind how desperate he felt. The small gasp that erupted from her mouth allowed Rhys to deepen the kiss, where he gently pushed her back into the bed, her hands finding their way through his hair as he moved to hover over her. Her body was  _so soft_ , he revelled in how the skin felt when he cupped her face, brushing a thumb along her jaw. Their tongues met and their breathing quickened as they kissed in such a fervent frenzy that Rhys couldn’t  _think._ The desire to pour everything into that kiss was overwhelming, and he bathed in the hitches of her breath, the short gasps and the way her hands tugged at his hair so deliciously.

They stopped, lips parted, short of breath.

“I’m guessing you liked your gift,” she whispered, and Rhys brushed her nose with his has he huffed a laugh.

_Tell her tell her tell her_

“Feyre I-“

“Well ain’t that sweet,” said a voice. Rhys rolled of Feyre quickly to find Thomas standing in her doorway looking like a wannabe Bond villain. Rhys pictured all the ways he could kill a man.

“Fuck off, Thomas,” spat Feyre, who swiftly rose from the bed.

“Just came to say hello considering I haven’t seen much of your pretty face this week.” He shot a pointed glare towards Rhys. Rhys stared back with his equally damaging death glare.

“Seriously? I’m not in the mood for your games, Thomas. Please leave,” demanded Feyre, who was inching towards the door as if to physically push him out.

“Calm down, love. I’m going,” he protested as Feyre closed the door on him, the yelp of the door catching his foot was an exceptionally satisfying sound..

“Sorry about that,” she murmured with a tired sigh.  

“Don’t be,” he choked out, his mind clouded by all things and everything about Feyre Archeron. 

She moved back towards him, slumping beside him on the end of her bed. She rested her head on his shoulder tentatively. He brushed a gently kiss to her hair, so soft that he didn’t she noticed, but she must have as she smiled into his shoulder. Rhys was trying not to think how he had been so close to saying those three words but the moment was ruined by the creepy douchebag who Rhys did notice looked at Feyre in a way that made him want to claw Thomas’ eyes out.

“We should probably go,” she whispered.

Frustration was an apt description of how the longer they kept quiet about what was between them, the harder it was to say anything. The string between them was becoming taut and strained, and at some point it would snap.

As Feyre rose, the absence of her body beside his felt like a limb had just been ripped from him, Rhys followed.

***

Ines had noticed the sheer shift in energy between her son and Feyre. At dinner, she had watched as her son’s eyes would be distracted by the newest member of their family, how the fleeting glances were also reciprocated by Feyre herself. Ines had watched as his fingers twitched on the table as if he was itching to touch her. She had smiled secretly behind her glass of wine.

Cassian was also quieter and it pained her to see her eldest son become so guarded, like he was permanently holding all his cards to his chest and was unwilling to end the game.

Morrigan seemed lighter, laughing heartedly and boldly. Though too, Ines could see through the secrets she had locked up and thrown away the key.

Only Azriel and Lena seemed normal. Az becoming livelier and Lena already alight with her usual flame.

Ines was glad that her husband was still in South Africa, as his presence would have no doubt dampened the colourful mood that illustrated that evening.

The flames danced and twirled through the bitter air. Her family were all wrapped up in their hats and scarves before the fire that although seeped heat did little to protect from the biting wind.

They were huddled together on the grass of the back garden until the smoke pervaded every sense, forcing them to leave the bonfire to die out. Ines noticed how her son and Feyre’s hands had slipped away from one another as they moved back inside, their clothes smelling of ash and wood.

By the time Rhys had returned from dropping Feyre back home, Ines approached her son in the hallway, her voice low.

“Have you told her yet?” she asked.

“No,” he replied simply, shrugging off his coat. “I don’t think she wants what I want.”

“I highly doubt that, my love, I saw how she was looking at you tonight. And the gifts she got you?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t believe her. So Ines resorted to what she did best – hugs. She wrapped her arms around her son, forcing him to bend slightly – since when did her son get so tall?

“What are you so afraid of?” she whispered in his hair.

“Everything,” he murmured.

***

Feyre was becoming frustrated. When Rhys had taken her home that night, at her own request considering Feyre didn’t think she would be able to sleep being under the same roof as Rhys again, they had still yet to address the unspoken words between them. When he had taken her hand so gently and discreetly before the bonfire, Feyre could still remember the gentle circles that Rhys had continuously traced across her knuckles.

_Why was it so damn difficult?_

So Feyre dreamed of Rhysand, it was only a logical consequence considering his stupid beautiful face was gracing her thoughts even as her eyes drifted shut.

She dreamed of him laughing, their fingers brushing as they walked. The way he gave her that look only for her. His hands and his mouth, his lips and his teeth. Her dream was completely and utterly dominated by all things Rhysand as her subconscious took over. His breath was fanning across her mouth as his hands skimmed her sides, slightly brushing her breasts. Lips drifted down her neck until they were pressing wet kisses down her throat. His hands brought her legs apart so he could settle between them but it wasn’t the same as it had been earlier that day when he kissed her so passionately on her bed. His weight felt different and his hands were more urgent and less caressing. Dream Rhys started squeezing at her sides.

She asked him,  _What are you doing?_

 _Doing what I always should have done,_ he replied. But it wasn’t his voice, it wasn’t soft or teasing and smooth like a lovers caress. It was rough and pressing and wrong.  _Wrong wrong wrong._ What was he doing? His hands were reaching under her top now and she almost jumped at how different they normally felt. He was pressing himself into her and his weight felt like a thousand tons pressing down until she couldn’t breathe.

 _No,_  she murmured.  _No, stop_ , she said more clearly this time. She tried to push his hands away from her body but he persisted, grabbing at her wrists. Her familiar enemy of panic came tearing through her system because Rhys wasn’t like this. He wouldn’t do this.

She opened her eyes.

Reality choked on her like a hand wrapped around her throat.

In the darkness she saw Thomas lay atop her. 

“Shh,” he whispered into her ear. “Just enjoy what we have between us.”

Feyre screamed.


	17. Stone Cold Truths

Nesta woke with a jolt. It took a bone piercing scream and a ground shaking bang for Nesta to rush out of bed on uneven legs, ripping the lamp out of the plug socket. She held it steady in front of her as she forced her legs to move through the darkness, muscle memory taking her over obstacles and through the landing to the source – Feyre’s room.

Fear was denounced as utterly and completely foreign as Nesta surged forward, adrenaline streaming through her veins.She slammed the door open without hesitation, ready to swing at the intruder, only to find her fiancé on his knees, groaning in what only seemed to be pain as he held his crotch, rocking back and forth.

“ _Don’t you dare fucking touch me,”_  roared her little sister. Through the darkness, the moonlight from the window being the only help to sight, Feyre had backed herself into the corner of her room and Nesta was trying to put the pieces together but they struggled to fit. Until it dawned on her. 

Nesta’s eyes met Feyre’s. The sheer amount of unfiltered revulsion that Nesta read from them made her nearly choke on rage. The lamp in her hand felt solid, she ripped off the lamp shade for good measure, weighing it in her palm as a sickening silence in the room settled.

There could be only one explanation for this outcome.

Nesta’s ex fiancé turned his head from his position on the floor, his face strained from deserved pain. Never had Nesta wanted to murder someone until this moment.

“ _Nesta,”_ Thomas warned as if she was a ravenous dog. Nesta felt like it. She was going to rip him to shreds. “Feyre overreacted, I was trying to wake her from her nightmare.” His voice was gentle and calm, and Nesta glared at him, words utterly foreign as blood rushed through her ears.

“ _No, no no,_ ” her little sister choked out. “He was on top of me, he had his hands-” Feyre slumped backwards even further, “Please believe me, Nesta.  _Please, please, please_.”

Nesta’s heart skipped a beat at the desperation in Feyre’s voice, at the way she expected her just to dismiss-

 _No_ , there were times before. Years ago when Feyre had said that Thomas had touched her. But Nesta had brushed it off, claiming that lying wasn’t pretty.

She was going to be sick.

“Nesta, honey, I-“

She swung. There was a sickening crack and thud. Nesta opened her eyes, realising that she had closed them in the brief moments the lamp connected with her ex fiance’s head.

The lamp fell from her shaking hand, another thud that made Nesta wince. His body was limp against the floorboards. Despite the repulsion to his skin she pressed her fingers to his wrist, as she watched a trickle of blood slide from his head into his ashy hair. There was a faint thump and Nesta shook off her fears that she may have murdered someone and end up having to clean up a dead body to then step over it and approach her little sister.

“You believe me,” Feyre swallowed.

“How could I not?” Nesta whispered.

Feyre stood on shaking legs, and she looked so young wearing penguin pyjamas, her hair starting to curl slightly like their fathers. It took everything for Nesta to swallow the guilt and shame to move forward, where she rigidly wrapped her arms around her sister.

 _I’m sorry,_ Nesta murmured into Feyre’s shoulder. Their grip tightened.

They withdrew slightly, Feyre blowing out a shuddering breath.

“What do we do now?” Feyre asked.

“I have a few ideas,” said Nesta.

***

“Hope you didn’t stay up too late thinking about me,” teased Rhys as he slid into the chair beside Feyre’s, third period maths. He hadn’t seen her all morning, and she hadn’t turned up to their usual meeting point at the start of the day.

There was no response.

Her hair was concealing half her face as it hung in front, her head was leaning on her hands.  _Was she asleep?_

“Feyre,” he murmured as he gently shook at her shoulder. She jolted backwards, the major indicator that she was indeed asleep. She rubbed at her face, running a hand through her hair. “Shit, are you okay?”

“No,” she mumbled. Rhys blinked. She let out a ragged sigh. “Nesta has kicked Thomas out.”

A pang of satisfaction rolled through Rhys.  _Good riddance._ “Do you…do you want to talk about anything?” he asked cautiously.

She shook her head quickly. He noticed how her knee was slightly bouncing. He didn’t want to push, or pry but she was evidently being haunted by something.

Rhys was torn. “You do know you can speak to me about anything, right?”

A glimmer of light flashed in her eyes, “Even girl stuff like heavy flows and boob ache?”

He smiled and huffed a laugh, “Um yeah, sure. Though I can’t really empathise. I will sympathise though, I will get you anything if you need it.”

Her lips twitched in a way that seemed to be a cousin of a smile.

Class started, and Rhys was obliged to shut his mouth. He wished he could read her mind, perhaps alleviate some of the pressure that had built up there.

The tension between them now was not the tension that belonged to them and solely them. Feyre was hiding something and there were moments where she would open her mouth to say something but she quickly closed it again.

As they were writing notes together, he heard a long exhale and Feyre murmured quietly, “Don’t get mad.”

“What?” he looked up, finding her eyes glued to the table.

“I woke up last night and Thomas was on top of me - touching me.” She said it so quickly that Rhys barely was able to put the words together.

Time stilled. “ _What_.”

“Don’t get mad. Don’t be mad. It’s sorted.”

His mind were a series of dots that he was trying to connect, “How-how do you expect me to not get  _mad_?” he whispered harshly.

“Because it is  _sorted. Shit,_ I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she sighed deeply.

Rhys took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden fire in his veins. The bell rang signifying the start of lunch, and Rhys packed away in record time. He trailed Feyre out of the classroom, the busy hallways allowing him say lowly, “Are you okay?”

“I already told you, no, I’m tired and fed up,” she said so quietly that Rhys was considering finding the nearest Thomas just so he could vent. He opened his mouth again and she shook her head, “Not here.” She took him by his arm, linking them. 

The wind was icy as it whipped at Rhys’ face as they stood outside, by the hidden corner of the east side building, the smokers that had seen Rhys approach had vacated – obviously thinking he was going to reprimand them. And he would in any other circumstance. But for now Rhys was concentrating on swallowing his biting rage.

“Ask away,” she said with a sigh, slumping against the wall. Rhys couldn’t sit still, and decided pacing was the only viable option.

“I know lawyers, my father is linked with some exceptional criminal lawyers that could-“

“ _No,_ ” she interrupted, “I told you it’s sorted. There will be no law suit, I’m not pressing charges.”

“Feyre this is  _assault_  –  _sexual_  assault. He could even go down for intent of rape.” Rhys was already running through the names that his father was linked with. The seriousness of the situation dawned on him and his stomach flipped in response. The sudden urge to punch something was palpable but he refrained from it, hearing his mothers voice in his head.

“Stop, Rhysand. Fuck, listen to me! Nothing is going to happen.  _Nothing_. He’s out of our lives now. Nesta and I made sure of that.” She closed her eyes, arms crossed.

“How so? How the fuck did you  _make sure of that_?” The gravel beneath his feet scuffed at his shoes but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

Her eyes snapped open, and her voice was sharp, “Nesta knocked him out with a lamp, we dragged him downstairs then threw all of his shit in bin bags. We called a taxi, told them to drive to the other side of the fucking country with his debit card. So as I said, it’s sorted Rhysand, leave it.”

“Rhysand? Seriously?” He scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “And what if he comes back?”

“He  _won’t._ Not when Nesta left him a fucking death threat about murdering him, alright?”

Rhys shook his head, “We need to do something more, Feyre. Say something.”

“You are not going to  _do_  or  _say_  anything!” she snapped, moving away from the wall and towards him. “Why don’t you get that into your head?”

Her eyes were like fire and the wind was blowing her hair out of her bun. She looked like a flame, a bright torch in the bitter air.

“I can’t just- I can’t just let him walk away without punishment. What he did was  _serious_ , touching you without your consent, while I’m guessing you were asleep right?” he asked and she nodded, another pang ran through his stomach.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Feyre protested half heartedly. “It was only really, up here,” she gestured to her torso that he had his hands on.

“Right,” Rhys laughed a dry laugh, “And that’s supposed to make it okay? Christ  _Feyre_ ,” he ran his hand down his face.

“This stays between us. I don’t want anyone else to know, understood? I’m already regretting telling you but somehow my stupid brain thought it was a good idea.” She was looking at him desperately, like she was embarrassed, ashamed. He must have taken too long to respond as she added, “Rhys,  _please.”_

He nodded quickly, swallowing his rage, his sadness, his guilt.

If the air between them before was fraught, now it was hanging by thin thread. The distance between them was almost painful.

“Can we just… go to lunch? Pretend I didn’t tell you anything?” she asked meekly. Rhys nodded his head faintly again, though on the inside, he protested with every atom.

***

Cassian didn’t think much as his phone buzzed, expecting it to be his mother to tell him to pick up something on the way home. And the name did say that it was his mother, but it was a different number.  _The_  different number.

He excused himself from the table filled with an enamoured Mor, an observant Azriel, a nonchalant Amren, and the equally quiet Rhys and Feyre. The latter problem he wanted to address later. He made sure that he was outside, the wind concealing his voice as he answered.

“I told you not to call during these hours.”

“I know, I know,” said the voice. “But we miss you. Can you come tomorrow?”

Cassian closed his eyes, his heart swelling and breaking, “We?” he repeated.

“Yes, we. Please tell me you can come.”

It was becoming more and more difficult to say no. And it was becoming more and more difficult to lie. “Okay, maybe…maybe next weekend you could come to mine?” He was almost choking on his nerves.

“Yes, Cassian, are you sure? What about your mum?”

“My mum will be fine. She’s open minded and everything that anyone could want in a mother.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated.

***

Feyre, for the first time in her entire life, had dinner alone with her sister. It was quite a bizarre feeling to be sat on the sofa with an Indian takeaway watching Home Alone. They were huddled under a blanket, enjoying the swell of silence that was no longer filled with tension. They had talked about Thomas briefly, but Feyre no longer wanted his name to be spoken in conversation again, she wanted to forget it completely, her mind already resorting to the suppression mechanism that she often went to.

“When is your interview?” asked Feyre, mopping up the last of her curry with the last bit of naan bread.

“Sunday,” Nesta said. “I’m going to be driving down to the city Saturday night because the interview is at 7:00am.”

“7:00 am on a Sunday? That’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“The News has no rest days,” said Nesta, “Besides, I don’t want you being all alone. Call a friend over.” She paused slightly, giving Feyre a nudge, “Maybe that Rhysand?”

“What are you trying to say, Nesta,” said Feyre, a brow raised in suspicion.

“Just giving you free time, that’s all,” said Nesta. She then proceeded to wink. Feyre rolled her eyes.

By the time Feyre slumped into her bed, she was exhausted, but restless. While her body begged for rest, her mind buzzed from unwanted activity. Her hand automatically reached for her phone, one call in mind, but she hesitated. She was unsure of whether Rhys would actually want to speak with her. She called him anyway.

Telling him what had happened was not the plan she had told herself that morning. But the way he was just there, she needed to get it off her chest. Even though she expected his reaction, there was a weight on her shoulders that had been lifted, because she couldn’t bear to lie to him. Not him.

Reality hadn’t quite caught up to her yet, Thomas had been like a bad dream. Indeed, she felt slightly queasy every time she thought about it, but his absence was almost a relief. For now, she wanted nothing more than to pretend that it didn’t even happen, because for Feyre, that seemed like the only way for her to be able to sleep at night.

He picked up after one ring.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied.

There was a soft silence, it took a few moments for Rhys to fill it in.

“Are you okay?” he murmured  out.

“Yeah. Better.”

“Good.”

“What are you doing?” she asked through a yawn.

“Reading. Six of Crows, it’s about a heist.”

“Can you read to me?” Feyre asked sleepily, burrowing her head into the pillow. She heard a slight chuckle and a rustle, probably getting himself comfortable.

“Before I start, can you tell me you’re okay again?” his voice was low and soft and Feyre had already closed her eyes to it.

“Yeah, honestly. I’m okay.”

“You’re not lying just to make me feel better are you?”

Feyre laughed through her nose, “No. Seriously seriously. I’m quite alright.” She heard him swallow. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” she then asked, her voice a murmur.

“Well at the moment nothing, why?”

“Can you come round mine? Nesta’s travelling for a job interview and I don’t want to be alone.”

There was a pause, the only sound down the phone was the faint sound of breathing.

“You want just me to come?” he eventually asked.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll be there.”

Feyre smiled into her pillow. “Can you read to me now? I like your voice.”

A huff of breath that simulated a laugh sounded down the phone. “Are you using me for my voice?”

“Yes. Now read. I’m sleepy,” the demand was pretty much useless considering it was nearly a murmur.

“Bossy. I like it.” Feyre swore if they could see each other he would have winked. “Chapter One: Joost. Joost had two problems…”

***

When Cassian told his mother that he had rugby training that Saturday, she gave him a suspicious look but didn’t question it. Instead she just hugged him and whispered in his ear,  _stay safe, I love you._

Cassian didn’t have the nerve to tell his mother where he was going, but he vowed to tell her the truth soon. He didn’t know when soon would be – whenever the ache in his chest would ease, perhaps.

He took the Camaro, despite Rhys’ protests, simply because it was the nicest drive. And driving relaxed him, which was good when he needed to be in a stable mind-set for his destination.

It was about a 3 hour drive to the city, and his heart was pounding even faster by the minute, in nerves, excitement, anticipation.

This was only the second time of going, and he knew it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair on everyone involved. He wanted to be able to do more, say more, but he was stuck in a box with no way of opening. And Cassian was exceptionally claustrophobic.

He would tell them soon, he promised himself. Soon.

***

When Feyre was working that Saturday, the café bustling with its ordinary vibrancy at that time of day, it was quite a shock to see Lucien come rushing in, quickly sitting at a far empty table and looking away from the window.

Their eyes met, Feyre narrowing her eyes in question and he gestured her over from where she was cleaning up a table.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked cautiously as she neared. She had needed to text him, yesterday had unnerved her.

“You definitely did not get the letter, right?” he asked quickly, his fingers tapping on the table in what only seemed to be paranoid energy.

“No. Lucien, are you in trouble? Tell me what’s going on.” She sat down across from him, motioning to the other waitress she was taking her break now.

He fidgeted on the chair, his eyes darting around. “I’m fine, as long as you’re safe, I don’t care.”

This was becoming borderline terrifying.

“What the fuck is going on Lucien? You’re actually beginning to scare me.”

“Nothing, I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” He made a move to stand but Feyre cut him off, standing before him with a hand on his arm.

“Come round mine tonight?” she asked hopefully, despite Rhys already attending, right now Lucien was her main priority.

He hesitated for a moment, as if he was considering. “No, it’s too…risky.” Feyre shot him a glare. “Trust me Feyre. Please.” And with that he pulled her towards him, embracing her with a tight hug. Then he brushed past, leaving Feyre almost gaping after him. She almost followed, but the look he sent over his shoulder was almost desperate.

_Stay away._

***

Nesta arrived in the city, tired and exhausted from the unrelenting journey. She was in dire need of some food, which was why she parked up quickly at the nearest supermarket.

It was slightly busy, being a late Saturday afternoon and Nesta manoeuvred herself round the ridiculous amounts of crying toddlers and frantic parents and underage kids thinking they could definitely buy that bottle of vodka. She was heading straight to get a sandwich, but she stopped quickly in sight of the aisle that tempted her even in her damn dreams.

Chocolate was Nesta’s guilty pleasure, and when she was rich enough she would buy enough just to bathe in it.

 _Screw it,_  she thought as she sauntered down the aisle finding that purple packaging that held the product of Jesus himself. Cadbury’s chocolate. She picked up a few.

Resisting the urge to satiate her grumbling stomach by just eating a whole damn bar now, she began to saunter back down the aisle, almost knocking into a pushchair with a child in the seat as she turned. The baby jolted, and Nesta felt an overwhelming surge of guilt as although kids were demon spawn, she never really intentionally wanted to hurt them.

The little girl looked up inquisitively at her with adorably chocolate brown eyes, her hair curly,  her cheeks chubby. She must have been no more than 6 months. Nesta felt the ice of her heart chip away slightly just looking at her cuddle a tiny green dinosaur.

“Nesta?” said a voice and she snapped her head towards to origin of that voice to find.

_Oh. God._

He came towards her, a couple of bags of sweets in hand.

“Cassian.” She said in greeting. “What are you doing here? In the city? In  _this_  Tesco?” Nesta was questioning why she kept bumping into him in supermarkets, was this going to be a recurring thing everytime she went shopping? She didn’t know whether she was annoyed or pleased at that.

“Urm, I’m shopping.”

“Three hours from home,” she deadpanned.

His hair was slightly messy, strands falling out of his bun, his shirt slightly askew. Nesta was frankly too bewildered to actually say anything spiteful.

A gurgling noise sounded just below them and they both snapped their heads to the pushchair that was situated just between them in the sweets aisle of Tesco.

It occurred to her then, where the fuck were these babies parents? Cassian must have been thinking the same thing but by the time she looked back up to him, he looked tired, exhausted even. He dragged his hand down his face.

The dots began to connect but he beat her to it.

“Nesta,” he said reluctantly, “this is my daughter, Ava.”

***

“Open your mouth,” Feyre said.

Rhys was leaning against Feyre Archeron’s kitchen counter with his eyes closed. Why? Because he would do anything she asked of him. Even if it meant letting her put questionable foods into his mouth and making him guess what they were.

He followed her instructions. He felt her body lean in close, and he soon felt the cold metal of a spoon being placed on his tongue.

“Marmite,” he said after swallowing.

“What the fuck, how are you not gagging right now?” she sighed out.

He opened his eyes, “You either love it or hate it,” he said.

The oven pinged, Feyre rushed to the oven excitedly, throwing open the door. When Rhys arrived at Feyre’s, wearing his joggers and sweatshirt, he was not only delighted to see Feyre wearing his own hoodie that she had stolen from him Thursday, but she also made him dinner. It was so perfectly domestic that Rhys was almost dying from contentment.

He watched her move around the kitchen. He mused at her scowl when she lifted some of the gloopy pasta from the dish and moved it to the plate. She then scowled at him for laughing out loud.

“I should have just ordered take out,” she sighed.

“No, I will eat this strange looking pasta bake even if it kills me,” he said.

And he did, though it had a rather strange texture, the taste was alright, and Rhys ate every damn morsel on that plate and it was worth it to see the slight light in her eyes as she found his plate clear. Eventually, they found themselves on the sofa, attempting to get comfortable before watching shitty Saturday night television.  _How close was too close_? Rhys thought as he shifted nearer Feyre until their arms brushed but neither of them said anything about it. It was so unbearably painful that he didn’t know how or when to cross over this line of friendship between them. But they were way more than just friends right? They had to be, considering just friends don’t give each other passionate handjobs and have midnight make outs in his car. Rhys decided to test the waters.

“I was thinking, that maybe we could go out together? Like the cinema, or like dinner…” he suggested faintly, keeping his eyes glued to the TV.

“Like a date?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” His voice broke slightly and he heard a slight distorted laugh that may have passed off as a giggle. He forced himself to turn his head to look at her and she was watching him with an amused look.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “If I go to dinner with you, then you will go see that new horror film with me.”

“Why do you hate me?” he groaned. But he still stuck out his hand, “It’s a bargain, you menace.”

She shook, and their hands lingered slightly as they pulled back.

Cautious – that was the word that described that night, from the slight brush of skin to the fleeting glances to the way Feyre tentatively put her head on his shoulder when she grew sleepy from watching crappy quiz shows. It reached midnight, so Rhys took it upon himself to take them to bed.

Quite frankly, Rhys thought, as they were brushing their teeth in the bathroom, this was the most intimate he had ever felt. Just watching her prepare for bed felt unbelievably domestic, like he was the boyfriend staying around for the night. He watched as she brushed through her hair before throwing it up in a bun. He watched as she wiped some makeup off leaving her face bare and as beautiful as before. He watched her watch him in the mirror.

“You could…sleep in Elain’s room, if you wanted?” she asked.

He nodded. But she opened her mouth again hesitantly, “Or you could sleep in mine?”

He almost slipped from the bathroom counter he was leaning on. “Yeah, sure,” he said quickly, trying to retain some semblance of cool, he winked and said, “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”  It received the Feyre eye roll that Rhys categorised as the one eye roll she would do every time she was sick of his shit. He loved it.

“You’re insufferable,” she said. “Maybe I should just make you sleep on the sofa.”

“Hmmm, but then you wouldn’t be graced by my presence,” he countered.

“Graced? More like plagued.”

He tapped her nose and he revelled in how she scrunched it in response, “I’m honoured to be your pest.”

Another eye roll, but this time it was with one of the Feyre smiles that indicated she was giving in to his delightful charm. A quiet air of calm settled around them as they stood before one another.

“My hoodie looks good on you,” he said lowly. She looked down to his hoodie that she was wearing.

“Do you want it back?” she asked.

“God no, you look better in it than I do, and that’s difficult to pull off.” She slapped his arm as she brushed past and Rhys was inclined to follow.

The tension was so unbelievably fraught that Rhys was certain the air was crackling in energy around him.

By the time they padded into her room, the floorboards creaking slightly under his feet, he was prepared for her to start throwing stuff on the floor for him to find sleep on, but she did nothing of the sort, instead just sliding beneath her duvet and squeezing up by the wall on her tiny single bed.

Rhys was uncertain of what to do, so he just stood there in question because surely she didn’t want him to-

“Are you seriously just going to stand there?” she deadpanned, her face was nestled on the side of her pillow so adorably and Rhys almost just melted into the cracks in the floorboards right there because this wasn’t like the other times. Sharing each other’s bodies was one thing but sharing a bed, being comfortable enough to just sleep beside one another was another.

He willed his feet to move, but before he lifted the duvet he asked, “Do you mind if I…” he indicated to his clothes and she nodded quickly. Rhys could already feel himself sweating under all the clothes he was wearing and as a tendency he never wore pyjamas anyway. He pulled off his hoodie, then his joggers, only to feel the Feyre’s eyes burning into him. He didn’t take of his t-shirt, considering he didn’t want to push it but Feyre beat him to it.

“Take it off,” she murmured.

So he did, pulling it off his head and although he was still wearing his underwear he had never felt more naked, like she could see beneath his skin to his pounding heart.

He slid in next to her, the single bed leaving no room for personal space, not that he minded.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked, hoping she would catch what he was hinting at, while he turned on his side to face her.

Something that he couldn’t quite identify flashed across her face but she nodded, “Yeah, I told you, I feel safe with you. I trust you.”

They were so close, their faces a few inches apart and he could feel the heat of her body seep through his.

“This is cosy,” he observed. The light from her bedside table illuminated one side of her face so he noted the flash of amusement in her eyes.

“Is this okay with  _you?_ ” she asked.

His eyes widened, “Fuck yes, this is um,” he coughed, “This is good, great. Fantastic even.”

She let out a hearty laugh, “How do you go from smooth, witty, insufferable prick to a flushing teenage boy in a matter of seconds?”

“Maybe, Feyre Archeron, it is because I am both of those things.”

She inched closer, shuffling herself over until the air that separated their arms was maybe two or three inches apart. Her knee brushed his.

Rhys wasn’t sure he was even breathing. His heart most definitely stopped when she reached out with a single index finger and started tracing down his jaw.

“You’re so pretty to look at,” she murmured and Rhys tried not to let it get to his ego that she had just called him pretty. “I want to paint you again.” She gasped a little in thought, “Maybe I could paint  _on_  you.”

Her finger trailed down the column of his throat over his Adam’s apple which bobbed at her touch until it reached his collar bone.

_Please never stop touching me._

When she went to withdraw her hand he caught it with his own, and placed a soft, gentle, whisper of a kiss to the palm of her hand.

Her lips parted, and her ice blue eyes looked so impossibly warm as she blinked at him, heat flushing over her cheeks making those perfect freckles stand out even more and Rhys could have died in that moment.

_Fuck, I am so in love with you._

Feyre’s breath hitched, her eyes impossibly widened and Rhys’ stomach dropped all the way through the bed and to the floor as he realised that he had actually spoken the words aloud.

And just like that, time stood still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much guys for your comments, I completely forget to reply to them because I don't go on here often. You're all wonderful x


	18. Finally

“What did you just say?” she whispered, her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open in awe and Rhys himself must have frozen in time because he was unable to move, to breathe, to even think.

He sat up quickly, unable to bear being so close. The duvet fell to his waist and he felt her sit up beside him. Somehow,  _somehow_  his mind caught up with his mouth. “I-I said I love you. Well, it was really: fuck, I’m so in love with you but semantics…”

 She exhaled shakily and Rhys couldn’t decipher what that even meant - he was analysing every one of her blinks, her breaths, even the strands on her face to find out any information on how she felt but he came up with empty conclusions. The air between them was still and Rhys didn’t think he could take counting her breaths any longer. “I’ve loved you for a while now,” he said, the words pouring out of him like water out of a tap. “Three years almost.” His voice was croaky and he watched as she blinked twice. “Please say something.”

“Oh,” she said.

 _Oh,_  that definitely wasn’t a good oh and Rhys wanted to disintegrate into the air and just not exist.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she managed to say.

“Because I was scared. Because you were with Tamlin. Because I think I don’t deserve you. Because I think you don’t love me back and I don’t think I can handle that.”

She looked down, then up. “But what if I told you that I do love you back?”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” she said firmly.

Maybe disintegration was a bad idea, because Rhys wanted to exist now.

Neither of them moved, unsure of what to say, to do.

“So,” she said eventually.

“So,” he repeated. “That’s convenient.”

“It is isn’t it?” she said with a slight twitch of the lips and Rhys’ heart had never pounded so fast that he feared it would break through his rib cage. Just like that, the aching need to say those words was gone, they were out there in the open between them and Rhys wasn’t even sure that just happened, how it was that easy. But it was, because life was a series of rushed breaths and words that one didn’t even think they could speak.

He didn’t even register the soft kiss that Feyre pressed to his lips at first, with a hand at his jaw to turn his head, because this wasn’t a kiss that concealed feelings. No, this was a kiss that held every possible feeling and this was a dream, it must have been as she moved her lips against his tenderly, slowly as if she was savouring the taste of him like he was savouring hers.

“Rhys?” she whispered against his lips.

“What?” he whispered back.

“Why are you crying?” And finally, he acknowledged the tears sliding down his cheeks. She wiped away them away with her thumb.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe it is because I have wanted you for so long, because I was scared that you would never love me back.”

“How could you possibly think like that?” She said incredulously. 

He shook his head slightly, unable to formulate sounds. “I thought you just wanted me…sexually, like I was you’re distraction. Not that I would be unhappy with that but I would be unsatisfied. I want you in every way possible, physically and emotionally. I want to be your friend, your best friend. I want to lie with you and laugh with you. I want all of you and everything that comes with it, Feyre Archeron.”

“Your poet is peeking through,” she laughed, before leaning in again and pressing her lips to his. Her lips were an addiction that Rhys would never be able to sate. The kiss was soft and sweet and the types of kisses that Rhys wanted to pepper all over her body, until it deepened and Feyre was pushing him by the shoulders to lie back down and she clambered over him, instantly pressing her mouth to his as if breaking apart for a few moments was almost unbearable.

His hands stayed pretty much PG, until Feyre sat up, sitting right on the area that made Rhys stifle a groan, and pulled off her  _-no his-_ hoodie, revealing absolutely nothing concealing her torso underneath.

 _Shit._  He gulped, this was going further than he expected already. But he struggled to remember any doubts as she leaned back down over him, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

Strands of her hair tickled his face as she went to kiss him again but he stopped her, pulling out her bobble to unravel it.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, tracing his hands against her bare back. She kissed him in response. Thoroughly, deeply, as if they had all the time in the world.

She pressed down on him harder, and he barked out a strained curse as she did so – unable to conceal his hardness and desire.

“Do you want to?” he rumbled lowly onto her lips and she pulled back slightly, looking so intently into his eyes. She didn’t even need to speak, she only nodded, a nervous smile on her lips.

She then proceeded to roll them over, pulling Rhys on top this time.

“Is this ok-“

“Yes,” she said threading her fingers through his hear as he settled himself over her. “It’s quite alright.”

Rhys didn’t think it was possible to smile this much and they were almost laughing between the kisses, as if they were drunk on them. Their hands linked together, Rhys pinning them near her head as she flashed him a wonderful smile. He wished he could paint or draw or take a picture in that moment because she was worth capturing.

It wasn’t long until he let her hands wonder again, and his skin was alight at her touch.

She was pulling him closer on top of him, his arms straining as she did so.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he said in warning.

“Crush me, please,” and an exquisite laugh came out of her mouth and he caught it with his lips, putting more of his weight against her, settling himself more comfortably between her parted legs.

The next kiss was crossing the line of sweet, as tongues began to roam signifying the beginning of heat and fire.

“Mission: to make you come three times,” he announced as he grazed his hand up and down the soft skin of her waist. He lips continued to trace her skin, her neck, her jaw. He licked and nipped at her collarbone while she trailed her nails over his shoulders and back. They were touches designed to seduce yet comfort.

“Babe,” she said, using his term of endearment, “That’s a bit ambitious.”

“Fine, twice.”

“Doable.” He huffed a laugh.

And it began, Rhys started pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down her chest, grazing his tongue and teeth slightly over her nipple. He moved further down, soaking in the symphony of gasps and little noises that escaped that mouth. He kneeled between her legs, his fingers on the waistband of her pyjamas. Her eyes were half lidded as she looked down on him, her hands gripping the sheets. She was a picture of seduction and beauty and everything in between as she lay, her hair splayed around her, her nipples slightly shining from where Rhys had his mouth. He was throbbing now, but he leashed himself as he drew soothing circles along her skin.

He tapped at the waistband, a question in his eyes. A firm nod, so Rhys dragged them down over her hips and down her legs so torturously, pulling her underwear with them.

Her eyes were closed as he chucked the articles to the floor, and he gently squeezed her legs, tearing his eyes away from the apex of her thighs.

“Feyre, darling, are you okay?” She turned her face into the pillow and nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He climbed back up her body, pressing a finger to her jaw to turn her face towards him. “You’re in control here, if you want to stop, it ends.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” she asked, her eyes lit up in mischief but he could see the grateful calm that lay behind them. She placed a hand on the top of his head and gave him a nudge. “Get down there. Or am I going to have to use my own hand to get myself off?”

***

A deep chuckle rolled through Rhys, and her returning smile made him nip at her lips one last time before resuming his quest down her body. “So demanding,” he hummed against her skin as he grazed his nose between her breasts, a hand reaching up to give one a tender squeeze, a finger brushing against her nipple.

Feyre was beginning to lose it slightly, the heat seeping from his skin into hers was enough to make her body thrum in pleasure but the teasing touches and the way he trailed his teeth and tongue along her skin made her throb in all the right places.

By the time he reached the apex of her legs, just the sight of him between her thighs with his hair mussed from her hands continuously running through them and his lips swollen from kisses was enough to make her utterly lose it there and then.

He splayed a hand against her abdomen, a wicked smile on his lips. She raised her brow at him as if to say,  _get on with it, you prick._  His smile grew broader, holding even more sinful promise.

“Say the magic words…” he purred. And she swore at him viciously, the memory of him holding against the door only last weekend with his fingers running up and down her slit resonated in her head. He was a damn  _tease_.

But before anything more could leave her mouth his own mouth had pressed itself against her and  _oh._

He ran his tongue through her slit, licking her, working her. Her hand moved automatically to grasp at his hair and she tugged, and he hummed in amusement as he scraped his teeth slightly and  _fuck._

His fingers then accompanied his mouth, pressing and rubbing and the sensation was too much, her mind was foggy and she wasn’t sure of what sounds were escaping her mouth, but they were noises she had never made when using her own hand.

***

Rhys was trying not to come at the noises that she was making as he flicked his tongue along her clit. His cock was throbbing with just watching her writhe, his hand on her stomach doing little to keep her still as she tugged at his hair, which did little to help with trying to focus.

“Come on babe,” he hummed against her as he proceeded to graze his teeth whilst his fingers continued to move in and out. He noticed her watching him with lust addled eyes and he couldn’t help himself as he turned his head to kiss at her inner thighs, saying against her skin, “You love seeing me like this don’t you?” The grip on his hair tightened. “You love seeing me between your perfect thighs with my mouth on you, my fingers buried inside of you, don’t you?” A soft whine escaped her mouth and he smiled in satisfaction.

She was soaked, and Rhys was trying to supress the thought of how his cock would feel inside her, instead of his fingers. His hips snapped into her bed and he chastised himself, licking harder now to push her over the edge, if her shaking breaths were of any indicators that she was close.

It took only a few more seconds to feel her tense around him, and he continued to work his mouth as her legs began to tremble and her chest heaved.

He managed to hold himself together as he climbed his way back up her body, his boxers did little to prevent himself from feeling how utterly soaked she was as he pressed himself between her legs gently. Her eyes were flickering between open and shut as she panted softly, he pressed a gentle kiss to her jaw before muttering, “We can stop here, if you want.”

Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on him. He felt her hand back in his hair as she tugged him down for their lips to meet and they shared her taste, it only made Rhys tremble in restraint. He couldn’t help the groan that erupted and how his hips involuntarily jerked upwards earning a gasp from Feyre.

“You promised me two orgasms, Spera, and so far I’ve only had one. So do you honestly think I want to stop now?” she said with a teasing twitch of the lips. Rhys was so damn relieved as he felt her hand brush down his body.

“You’re going to be the absolute death of me,” he choked out as she took him in her palm, stroking and teasing. “But, holy Gods,” he spluttered as she ran her thumb over his tip, “What a good way to die.”

They managed to shake off his boxers, Rhys frantically pushing them off his legs. Her hand resumed to working him and he was almost shaking above her as her hand worked him firmly, a nail slightly scraping down the side of the head and Rhys almost lost it right there - it took everything for him to not come in her palm right there and then. 

“Condom,” he gasped out into her neck.

“Bedside table,” she replied. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, muttering a nearly inaudible,  _love you_ , before reaching to her draw and scrambling around for the familiar foil package and  _there._

He could feel her body vibrating in laughter as he knelt before her, ripping open the package with his teeth in record speed and getting to work.

“Ah fuck, I broke it,” he said as he threw the condom to the floor and reached for another.

“You had one job.”

“Shut up, these are most likely too small,” he said through a huffed laugh, making a better attempt at rolling it on.

“You’re confident,” she giggled out.

“Well you had me in that pretty mouth of yours so I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” he said lowly, an eyebrow raised as he leaned back over her, and he watched her eyes flash in memory and a sly smile grace her face. Indeed, he had thought about her mouth wrapped around his cock nearly every night that week.

They worked together as he aligned himself, Feyre muttering,  _teamwork_ and Rhys barked a laugh, smiling onto her skin. 

Rhys didn’t think he was going to actually even last a few seconds as he slowly slid in, watching her eyes for any signs of regret, but instead they rolled backwards, a soft whimper escaping her swollen lips. And fuck, if this wasn’t what heaven felt like. His right hand felt utterly inferior compared to this.

He could barely keep his eyes open in pleasure, so he buried his face into her neck to compose himself, brushing his lips and grazing his nose along the sensitive spots on her jaw and neck. His hips started to move slowly, making sure she was comfortable and Rhys ripped his face from her neck to keep note on her face, which was currently a vision that he would visit if alone.

Her lips were parted, soft breaths escaping followed by incoherent murmurs. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes flickering. Sweat matted some strands to her hairline.

“Faster, please,” she said softly followed by a hitch of breath as he obliged.

“Oh fuck, Feyre, you feel fucking divine,” he groaned out as a hand reached down to hitch her thigh higher, she let at a moan that Rhys would imprint on his memory forever and return to if ever he needed to.

“How’s that?” he gasped out.

“Pretty average, I guess,” she responded and his eyes snapped open to hers where she was silently laughing in amusement. “I’m kidding. Boys and their egos.”

His hips snapped into hers harder now, and the strangled cry that came out of her mouth left him smiling with male satisfaction.

“How’s that for pretty average?” he said lowly against her lips and she whimpered as he moved harder, her tits brushing slightly against his chest.

The bruising kiss he pressed to her already swollen lips was quickly followed by meeting of tongues, as Rhys explored her mouth, catching all the moans and whimpers. One of her hands was buried in his hair, where she scratched her nails slightly, the other was gripping his shoulder,  _hard_ , hard enough to leave bruises - and dear god he wanted them so badly. He pulled at her lip between his teeth and he felt her climbing, the slick sounds of sex mixing with her choked moans and Rhys’ overuse of the word fuck.

He was certain he would come any second, but he willed himself to see her fall first.

***

She could tell he was holding out for her, the edge was too close as he snapped his hips into her even deeper than she thought possible.

“I’ve thought about every single possible way I could have you,” he said deeply into her ear, his hot breath causing her to shiver. “With my fingers, my mouth, my tongue and my cock. Christ, you have no idea how many times I have thought of you like this, writhing beneath me with your perfect tits and that perfect mouth.”

“I thought about you too,” she choked out. “When I touch myself, I think about you.” She watched his jaw clench. It was exceptionally satisfying. “I touched myself thinking about Halloween, when I had your cock in my mouth and how you had me against that door-“ a hand suddenly clamped down on her mouth and she smiled against his skin, resisting the urge to lick there.

“Babe, please, dear god. I’m trying to get  _you_  to come here.”

The strain on his face was enough to make Feyre guide his hand that was on her mouth down between their slick bodies, where his fingers easily found exactly what she needed. And then it hit her, hard and fast, her body tensing in the pleasure of it all. Rhys followed with a few more thrusts, and he choked out a groan, burying his face below her neck, his hair tickling her jaw.

The sound of heavy breathing filled the room, Rhys’ head moving with her chest. The weight of him was comforting, safe. Feyre threaded her fingers in his hair - where her hands were drawn to most often - savouring the softness.

“Your hair is so  _soft,_ ” she asked, watching her fingers comb through the black strands.

He was almost purring as he mumbled, his mouth level with the tops of her breasts. “You’re so soft.” 

She felt his eyelashes brush her skin. She smiled into his hair, placing a kiss to the top of his head. She didn’t think she could ever get enough of him.

When he rolled off, pulling out of her she felt utterly bare, and she resisted the urge to tug him back on top.

As he got back into bed, she climbed over him, the bare floorboards creaking under her weight. She turned to see him pout and she quickly glanced at his toned chest, because Feyre now seemed to simply lose all reserve when it came to seeing Rhys naked.

“What are you doing?” he protested. She felt his gaze roam over her skin as she found his t-shirt on the floor, pulling it on.

“Going to pee. Do you need anything? A glass of water? A cup of tea?”

He smiled as he slumped back on the bed. “God I love you. Tea, please.”

She tried not to look too giddy at how easily the words rolled out of his mouth. So she decided to press a soft kiss to his lips, bending down over him.

As she brushed thumb over his cheek, his eyes closed. “I love you too,” she muttered onto his lips, the smile gracing his face was back and this close, Feyre noticed a faint dimple in his right cheek. She resisted the urge to press her finger into it.

“Hurry, my fair lady,” exclaimed Rhys dramatically but his voice was laced with fatigue, “The Lord needs his tea.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Well it’s good that you love me then isn’t it?”

“Hmmm, I may change my mind,” she teased as she turned to leave.

“How you wound me so,” he said from behind and she was laughing as she left.

***

“Sorry, Cassian, I think I misheard you.”

“Nesta, she is my daughter.”

Nesta nodded her head again. Clearly, clearly she was thinking about Cassian too much and now she was hallucinating.

“I know this must be a…shock to you, it was to me too,” he said gesturing to the little girl sat between them, now dribbling down her chin. Cassian smiled slightly, and bent, wiping her blanket on her chin and stroking a thumb across her cheek. The baby gurgled in what only could be happiness.

Nesta was certain that her mouth was agape so she slammed it shut, wincing at how her teeth clattered together. Cassian returned to face her, his face apprehensive.

“Do you want to…I don’t know, talk about why we are both here over some coffee or something?” he asked. And Nesta had never seen him like this, never had she seem him nervous – only the insufferable bastard who seemed to want to flirt his way to her phone number and into her pants. But now, he was completely unrecognisable in the way he spoke, in the way he stood, and Nesta was intrigued – it had always been in her nature to reveal and discover.

It is why Nesta found herself nodding her head, her face set into a thin line in attempt to not give anything away.

By the time they both sat down in the Supermarket café, drinking the cheap tea and picking at the packaged biscuits, Nesta couldn’t help but feel that this was the strangest experience of her entire existence.

She was sitting here, in a Tesco café in the city, with her little sister’s friend, who was now bouncing a secret baby on his knee.

Definitely  weird.

“So,” she said, gesturing awkwardly to the baby. “What, how, when, where, why.”

He coughed. Nesta couldn’t keep her eyes of the ball of chub with brown eyes, though the brown eyes were also fixated on Nesta herself and it was unnerving to be the attention of something so tiny and cute.

“Well, let’s just say I got this letter, a few months back. Opened it thinking my blood parents had contacted me but no, the letter was from a girl who I had slept with just over a year ago. Her name was Naomi, she went Prythian high for sophomore and the start of junior year but moved to the city. It was one of the Halloween parties, I can’t remember which one. We were drunk and had unprotected sex and…” He nodded his head towards the baby now stuffing her hand in her mouth. “You can guess the rest. Damn it Ava, don’t do that, baby girl,” he murmured pulling her soggy fist out of her mouth and replacing it with a dummy. Nesta ignored how the term of endearment chipped another piece of ice around her heart.

“This Naomi…where is she now?” She managed to rip her eyes away from the baby – Ava – to find Cassian staring at her intently.

“She’s with her parents currently. They don’t really like me, not today anyway, considering I’m not going to marry their daughter. So she told me to take Ava elsewhere while she tried to cool them down – do some shopping for them,” he gestured around them.

It occurred to her then that Cassian was only 18 years old, and he was holding a baby in his lap with such ease.

“Cassian, your mother, she doesn’t know does she?”

He shook his head, a flash of shame across his face. Ava’s face started to contort, and Nesta tried not to look too uncomfortable as Ava erupted into a whine. Cassian immediately turned her towards him, propping her against his chest with a single hand as he rocked gently. The tiny human looked even tinier against her father’s broad chest and Nesta had to divert her eyes to her tea.

“I have known for over a month now and I haven’t managed to bring it up. It’s not that I’m ashamed of Ava or anything, I’m ashamed at my inability to even tell my family, the most amazing people in my life. But the longer I keep it to myself to harder it is to tell and god…my mum would be fine, she would be amazing even, I know that. But she has always told us to be safe and I can’t help but feel like I have let her down…my dad would probably rip my head off though,” he said so quietly that Nesta was nearly about done for the day of feeling this strange emotion curling in her chest –  _ah, sympathy, that’s what it was._ “Tell me, what are you doing here?”

In ordinary circumstances, Nesta may have retorted with,  _mind your own business you hulking brute,_ or  _wouldn’t you like to know you piece of lard,_ but now she just spoke without the spite, because there was a time and a place. And now, it was neither.

“An interview, I’ve just travelled down for the night because it’s early tomorrow.” Her eyes were drawn yet again to the little tufts of black curly hair that almost blended in with his black shirt. Cassian lifted Ava higher on his chest so her head peaked over his shoulder, her tiny fists were reaching out to grab thin air.

He must have noticed her stare, and he must have mistaken that for what he was about to ask, “Do you want to hold her?”

“No.” Nesta did not like babies or tiny humans because they were unpredictable and were too cute to reprimand if they did something disgusting like snot all over her or just vomit everywhere.

“Ah,” he just said. An awkward silence settled, and Nesta was suddenly desperate for their encounters to be filled with ridiculous innuendoes and Cassian’s massive ego.

“How often have you seen her?” she finally asked, after rooting in her mind for suitable questions.

“This is the fifth time. Naomi brought her to our town three times, and I’ve visited the city twice,” he explained. “She’s great, she wants her daughter to know her father. She understands that there is nothing else between us.”

A phone buzzed, and Nesta scrambled for her phone – but it wasn’t hers.

“Nesta, can you hold Ava for a moment please,” he asked as he juggled between his phone and the baby against his chest. He looked at her pleadingly and someone must have put something in Nesta’s tea because she reluctantly agreed.

 _How the fuck did she hold a baby?_  She thought as Cassian placed her in her hands and retreated to answer his call. She ended up holding the baby a distance away from her, her arms aching from the effort. The kid was just glaring at her curiously, her little fingers wiggling. Nesta blinked. The baby blinked.

Nesta rooted through every encounter with a child that she had experience, albeit few, but she remembered bits. One significant piece of information she remembered was the strange thing someone did to their face.  _Oh yeah, that was smiling._

So Nesta decided to smile, albeit exceptionally strained and any people walking by might have thought Nesta was having a stroke but then a noise came from the babies mouth and its – her – tiny lips broke out into a smile. This wasn’t so bad, she realised. There was something about the baby smiling that made Nesta melt a little. So she brought the baby closer, and pressed the baby to her chest, like Cassian had.

But she immediately saw that was a bad idea as the little shit started grabbing and yanking at her hair.

“No, stop it. Bad baby,” she whispered harshly. The baby stared at her as if she had never heard such a tone and Nesta felt immediately guilty. So she finally decided to let the baby do whatever she wanted with her hair, that was until the baby decided to move on from her hair and onto an area that Nesta was not prepared for.

Tiny grabby hands pressed into her breast and the little girl’s eyes started to water and her face contorted. This was something that Nesta was definitely not going to accept.

“Sorry kid, no boob for you,” she said as she pulled the baby back out in front of her awkwardly as tears started to dribble down her chin.

“Sorry about that,” said a voice as the baby was lifted from her. “She’s probably hungry.” Cassian returned, his face apologetic but she saw the amusement.

“Don’t be a bast-“ she cut herself off,  _did babies learn how to swear?_

He chuckled, but it wasn’t a chuckle that would usually make Nesta want to bite his head off.

“That was Naomi by the way, I have another hour with her until I have to drop Ava back.”

“Why?” Nesta found herself asking.

“Because I told my mum that I would be back no later than 10, and I don’t want her to worry.”

Ines was quite an extraordinary woman, Nesta thought, she couldn’t fathom why Cassian felt reluctant to tell her of something so important, she was now a grandmother after all.

“I can be there you know,” the words slipped out of her mouth before she even realised what she was saying, “If you need any support in telling your family, considering I’m probably the only one who knows, right?”

His mouth dropped open slightly, “Thank you,” he rasped out. But then he opened his mouth again with an infuriating smirk, “I knew you wanted an excuse to be around me.”

“This is one act of kindness, don’t expect anything else from me you oaf,” she snapped back, irked that she let one single sentence rattle her.

“So Nesta Archeron does have a heart?” he said with a huff, Ava now asleep in his arms.

“I’m not some raging bitch who does not give a shit about anything or anyone.”

“You fooled me.”

Nesta stood, unwilling to take anymore shit from the brute.

“Wait,” he protested, rising as slowly as he could to not wake the baby, “I’m sorry. I just-“ he cut himself off, taking a deep breath before he continued. “Do you want to go for a walk or something? There’s a park just near here.”

“It’s getting dark,” said Nesta.

“I will keep you safe,” assured Cassian.

“I don’t need to be kept safe,” lied Nesta. She was independent and strong, but Nesta was also scared, and safety was a concept that she clung onto on a daily basis.

“Of course you don’t,” Cassian said.

She looked around, at the bustling supermarket cafe filled with evening shoppers, most Christmas shopping already. That Saturday night she had planned to stay in her hotel room with a good book, some chocolate and maybe a hot bath, but it didn’t seem as appealing when an offer was on the table to spend another hour with Cassian. She couldn’t believe that she finally admitted that to herself.

“A walk sounds fine,” she said eventually and a smile that was neither a shit eating grin nor an insufferable smirk rounded his face and Nesta found her lips twitching at the sight.

***

Rhys was tracing his fingers up and down Feyre’s spine as she lay on her stomach next to him. Her face was squished adorably against the pillow, her eyes shut, her breathing beginning to even. He lay on his side just watching her, her skin soft and warm.

His heart was exploding, his stomach a constant state of butterflies. He feared if he went to sleep he would wake up in his own bed, sweating and panting.

“Rhys, go to sleep,” she muttered into the pillow.

“Feyre, go to sleep,” he repeated, brushing his hand through her hair, moving strands from her face.

“You’re like a cat, always wanting attention.” She inched closer, until their bodies were aligned, their faces close. The single bed allowed nearly no room for movement, but Rhys didn’t care because he never wanted to move.

“What are we?” he asked through the darkness.

“I don’t know. What do two kids in love normally do in the films?”

“Well Romeo and Juliet committed suicide, Jack died for Rose on the tit-“

“I said normally, you idiot.”

He took her hand that lay between them, holding it to his mouth as he pressed a kiss. “This is normally the part where they establish their exclusiveness.”

“Right,” she said, tightening her fingers round his hand. “Do you want to be my boyfriend Rhys?”

“Yeah, considering it is a massive upgrade from a pest,” he said, his insides turning to mush.

“Cool.” He watched her close her eyes, “Can we go to sleep now?”

She shifted on her side, burying her face into his chest as their legs entwined. As Rhys held her, continuing to gently stroke through her hair and down her back, he thought about how easy it was to breathe.


	19. There's good days, bad days and really bad days

The quiet moments were always the best moments, the pieces of time where no thought burdened the mind. That’s why Lucien loved sleeping now, it was his favourite pastime. Because sleeping involved no means to think, where he could wander off into a world where things were simpler, where he was just an ordinary school kid that was working hard to get to university with brothers that didn’t shove him down the stairs for jokes and parents who actually remembered he existed.

But his moment of quiet was interrupted, by an incessant banging at his door that merged into an organised knock, three rapid knocks followed by 2 slow knocks followed by a further three rapid ones. 

Feyre.

He heard muffling as he dragged himself from his bed, almost sleep walking to the door and he unlocked it, opening the door slightly to find Feyre mouthing off at Eris.

He didn’t care what was happening, Eris throwing him a vicious smile and muttering something lewd, he just pulled her by the wrist inside before locking the door again and turning towards her.

“Your brother is an absolute disgrace,” she spat, her face flushed.

“They all are,” he said before brushing past and face planting his bed.

Soft, careful, gentle footsteps sounded, and he felt the weight of her press into the bed.

“I thought we agreed to meet after school,” she said.

He turned his head to look at her, and she was watching him with worried eyes that made his stomach twist.

“Sorry, I forgot,” he replied. And he did, he really did, the first thing Lucien thought about at the last bell was his bed.

“Tell me,” she demanded, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Everything was wrong. Receiving death threats was wrong. Getting his tires slashed was wrong. Being sent threats telling him that they would hurt the people that he loved was wrong. Though that list was short, barely five people, it made his stomach drop at someone getting their hands on any one of them, one of such people were currently sitting on his bed now.  

He must have been quiet for too long as Feyre lay down on her back next to him, sighing heavily.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me,” she said.

 _“_ Then you’re going to be here a while,” he turned on his back, staring at the white ceiling like it was the most interesting art piece that ever existed.

_“Lucien.”_

_“Feyre,”_ he mimicked. He felt her move, her hands grabbing at his arm, he felt her trying to pull on him, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Lucien you need to get outside, your blinds aren’t even open for crying out loud.”

“I’m a vampire now,” said Lucien, as she tugged on his arm one final time and she slumped back down next to him in defeat.

“Rhys and I decided you need to get out, so you’re coming round to for dinner. Lucien, you’re not even eating properly.”

Lucien barely heard what she said, mulling over her use of  _Rhys and I_. Though it had been two weeks since Feyre announced Rhys was now her boyfriend, Lucien still couldn’t stop himself from picturing Tamlin.

“Are you even listening to me? Fuck, I feel like shaking you senseless right now.” She was now sitting, looking down at him with those piercing eyes of hers that made him feel like she was looking right through him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

“They are the only two damn words that I have basically heard from you in the past two weeks and it is driving me insane.” She picked up his hand but it was limp. He knew he was being difficult, but better to drive her away than keep her within his personal circle of torment. “I know what you’re doing you bastard. I’m not leaving. I will stay all night if I have to.”

“I don’t think Rhys would be happy about that.”

“Rhys wouldn’t care,” she snapped. “And you know it.”

He did, Lucien did know it. He knew that they were a painfully healthy couple. They bickered and fought but always ended up negotiating. They spent fair amounts of time with one another while giving one another space. Lucien was envious.

“Please,” she said now, desperately, her eyes beginning to water and for crying out loud Lucien hated it when she cried. “I’m trying so hard here. If it’s about me, and this is just a way for you to cut me off-“

“No,” he grounded out, finally sitting up. He couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking like that, Lucien valued their friendship dearly. “It’s absolutely nothing to do with you. You’re still my best friend, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Then you’re going to have to start talking to me!”

She looked as if she was going to cry again, and Lucien wanted to squeeze the sadness out of her considering he was the cause. He had debated telling the police, a teacher, anyone, but their threats held greater weight. Especially Bron was known to have a Chief of Police as his father while some of the guys after him had very important lawyers as parents. He was stuck in a box, with no support on any surface apart from a listening ear. 

Lucien was sick of chasing peace.

“I’m being threatened,” he said quietly. He watched Feyre’s eyes widen, her face contorting into one of anger.

“ _Who_.” 

“The expelled football players, Bron, Hart, some new kids they recruited to their  _let’s kill Lucien club.”_

“Lucien, this isn’t fucking funny. We need to report this right now.”

“ _No,_  nothing will be done about it, you know about Bron’s dad.”

“So? There’s more to the police force than one man.” She stood up. “I’m going to the station right now.”

“You will do no such thing!” he spat out, rising with her. “This is my battle, Feyre. How would you like it if I went to the police and reported what happened with Thomas, huh?” Hurt flashed across her face and Lucien knew it was a low blow. When she told him what he did, Lucien was ready to become a personal investigator to hunt the bastard down.

“This is completely different and you know it,” she hissed, tears now actually falling down her cheeks in anger, because he could tell the difference between the two. Her sad tears would not be accompanied by her narrowed eyes and snarling mouth that she was currently sporting.  “Your  _life, your very being,_  is in  _danger.”_

“And I will handle it.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, at her, the situation, everyone and everything. He saw every bit of disbelief in her eyes at his statement. “Please Feyre, I’m begging you. I’m begging you to trust me.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, he wished he had a plan, a way to get out of this. But Lucien only saw darkness ahead, but he was used to that. He thought that he had the guts, he thought that he had the guts to fight back. The only degree of control he had over the situation was the somewhat comforting weight of the knife in his pocket, reminding that when the time did come, he would claw his way out. 

Feyre nodded reluctantly.

But it was enough.

“Thank you,” he breathed. 

***

“He just told me to trust him.”

Rhys didn’t like that one bit and he gave his girlfriend an alarming stare as she curled up on his bed amid the stacks of paper comprising English coursework they were ploughing through.

“Rhys, I do trust him,” she said, catching his stare as he leaned back on his desk chair.

“I trust whoever you trust, but I don’t trust the guys that have the intention to harm you  _or_  him, particularly you, so excuse me for feeling a bit peeved.”

She sighed, pushing the laptop off her lap and lying back against the pillows. Rhys followed suit, and moved towards his bed, clambering on top next to her narrowly avoiding literature texts and poetry scattered about, where he gathered her up in his arms and pulled her close. It still made his heart beat a little faster, just the thought at being so at liberty to do such things.

Her voice was muffled by his shirt as she said, “Lucien needs me, Rhys.” Her hands found their way underneath his shirt – he realised that was a tendency of hers when her hands were cold.

“I know he does, but I need you safe. I’m already worried enough about Cassian,” he murmured into her hair, hoping she’d understand his desperate need to see her unharmed and well.  She nodded, pressing her face close into his chest, and his mind eased slightly. He didn’t want her tangled in any webs like this.

“You want to stay round tonight?” he asked, it was Monday, so he expected her to decline the offer but she muffled a  _yes please,_ and he pressed a kiss to her hair in response, his lips lingering.

It had been, indeed, quite the couple of weeks. Their relationship was a dynamic Rhys never thought he would ever be able to experience, it was a comfort, like Feyre was his right hand - emotionally and sexually. Feyre was the type of girlfriend that called him to just rant about something insignificant, to be constantly holding his hand, to blush when he kissed her openly in public. Then she was also the type to have his cock in her mouth while he was  _driving -_ well, stuck in traffic on a dark winters rush hour. 

By the time they left his room to go to dinner, after Morrigan interrupted their impromptu nap, they were both sluggish from too much homework and revision. Though at the top of the stairs before their descent, Rhys found the time to slide his hand in the back pocket of Feyre’s jeans.

His mouth brushed her ear as he said, “God, you look fucking delicious in these jeans.”

“You’re a scoundrel,” she said. But she proceeded to press her mouth to his, it was hard and fast but it made Rhys feel a little dizzy as she pulled back, wiping her thumb over his bottom lip. “Come on,” she smiled as she took the hand that was previously in her back pocket into her own and pulled him down stairs.

***

“Nesta, what are you doing here?” asked Feyre, pulling along a slightly dazed looking Rhysand. But then Nesta realised Rhysand always looked dazed in Feyre’s presence.

“I’ve been invited for dinner,” she said. After Nesta had received a text from Cassian explaining that he was going to tell his family tonight she agreed, albeit reluctantly, considering she was still questioning her decision to help him at all. Although, when Cassian greeted her earlier on, she guessed it was worth it just to see the smile on his face, in what looked like to be relief. It gave Nesta some sort of power that she was the source of such smile. She wanted to see it again, said a little part of her brain that she shut off very quickly.

Her little sister was murmuring something lowly to Rhysand, something that made him huff a chuckle, his hands were absently playing with her fingers on the table.

Nesta swallowed the pang of jealousy, that her little sister was now sporting a far better love life than she ever did.

That night, Nesta felt sincerely out of place. Where Feyre blended in with no seams, Nesta felt like a spectator, watching what was the perfect family. Nesta thought she had gotten close when she had dinners with her mother and Elain, but this was not even a patch on how the Spera’s worked.

Ines was a woman with no reservation of love. It seemed to be cascading out of her pores, it was utterly heart wrenching that Nesta felt too much like a stranger to be part of it.

“So, Nesta,” said Ines, her smile emanating a maternal glow, “I heard you have found a new job, congratulations my love.”

When Nesta received the phone call that she had gotten the job with no competition, she didn’t think she had ever  _squealed_  before. She was glad she was alone in the house when she did so.

“It’s been a long road, but yes. Thank you Ines,” she replied, and Nesta tried not to wince at how formal that sounded.

The conversation moved on, and so did the increasing display of Cassian’s nerves. She could tell that he was building himself up, trying to grapple on the first words to say before revealing such information. Nesta was not surprised that he had waited over two weeks since that night she first met his daughter in Tesco, he had admitted during their walk that he was still not ready. So Nesta waited. She waited for that call that would inevitably be Cassian requesting her presence that she offered so hastily.

He was fidgeting and it was beginning to grate at her until eventually she placed a discreet hand on his leg. She ignored the sheer muscle that was trapped beneath the jeans he was wearing as she squeezed slightly, sending a side glare hoping that he would see her encouragement.

It seemed to have worked, as he cleared his throat. Once. Twice.

“Everyone,” he announced finally, all heads turning towards him, “I know I haven’t been fair to you all, being secretive, deceitful. It is neither fair nor was it right for me to keep something so important for you for so long.” Nesta could tell he had rehearsed this. “It’s just been really difficult for me to come to terms with it. And I don’t want any of you to think of me differently. I-I” he choked out. Nesta then did something that she thought she never would, she placed her hand over his. Every eye round the table zoned in on that hand but she felt Cassian shift, felt how her touch had somehow made a difference because he cleared his throat, straightened his back and said, “I have a –“

The front door slammed open, followed by a clamour of voices. A male – an almost exact replica of Rhysand but with lighter skin and a face aged by what only could have been decades of angry phone calls and meetings - strode through the archway to the kitchen. Damien Spera.  _This_ was Damien Spera.

“My beautiful family!” he announced, another man followed, his hair dark and his eyes a deep golden brown. She noticed how Mor tensed and Nesta struggled to connect any family resemblance until she noted the eyes again, the deep set of them.

Nesta had heard bits and pieces about Cassian’s father, that he was a tough and stern man. Conservative and everything that Ines wasn’t. Morrigan’s father on the other hand, she had heard nothing about.

But she was able to make an instant assessment of the man as Morrigan’s father stalked towards his daughter in record speed, yanking her out of her chair, Morrigan scrambling to her feet as he did so. Everyone at the table rose, even Nesta, because finally she noticed the hostility in his eyes and the way Mor winced at his grip. The snarl on Azriel’s face was almost audible.

“Keir, I  _said_  you could sort her out later, we will have dinner first.” Damien’s head turned to Ines, where she was almost seething. “Why you insist on eating in here when we have a perfectly good dining table is beyond me.”

He approached her and everyone tensed, but all he did was press a forced kiss to her cheek. What he then whispered into her ear was a mystery to all of them. Her face turned pale, and she sat back in her seat, her lips set into a thin line.

Never had she seen Ines become so docile in a matter of seconds. Nesta decided that she hated Damien Spera already.

“Azriel,  _son_ , go get us two more chairs if you would,” he demanded. Nesta had not really spoken to Azriel, it was more simple head nods of acknowledgement that were the only forms of their communication but she could tell in that moment that it took everything in his power to nod at his father and walk from the room.

Damien shot Ines a look.

Ines gulped a long sip of her wine. And with a weak smile she said, “Sit down everyone, dinner will get cold.”

***

Morrigan was struggling to swallow down the beef in Ines’ stew. Even chewing was attracting her father’s piercing glares that made her knees shake in fear. He had never looked at her like that.

And there could be only one reason.

Andromache hadn’t turned up at school that day, hadn’t even answered her texts.

 _But they were so careful_. They made sure not to hold hands in public. They shared maybe one or two kisses in empty girls bathrooms. Unless Andromache had told her parents, perhaps informing her parents along the way… the possibilities were endless.

Mor’s parents were so insistent on making sure their golden child remained glowing.

The table was near enough silent apart from the sounds of cutlery scraping on plates that made Mor’s teeth grind together.

Ines grasped at her hand under the table, and Mor swallowed the lump in her throat. Her palm was soaked with sweat but Ines still held on. Mor’s eyes looked up to find Feyre, who gave her what only could be complete and utter support within a single glance. The throat in her lump then eased, and the glance that her cousin gave her also was one that said,  _we are in this together, as a family._

“Feyre,” said Damien, and Mor almost jolted at the sudden voice that disrupted the stale air. “I don’t believe you have introduced me to your sister, this is…”

“Nesta,” ground out the eldest Archeron sister, her eyes were steel against Damien’s and Mor almost shivered at the force behind it.

Damien cocked his head in appraisal. But then turned his head back to his food in dismissal.

The tension radiating from Nesta’s body was palpable to anyone within a 10 metre radius.

“Right, I think it’s about time to address the elephant in the room,” said Damien, wiping at his mouth.

***

“Damien,” Cassian’s mother warned, “Please. Not now-“

“I think it’s best if you keep your mouth shut,  _dear.”_ Cassian watched Lena flinch, not as experienced in the temper of Damien Spera. “Now, all I wanted to do, was come home, see my family. But it’s never that easy is it? Now Morrigan,” he turned his head. “Your father is quite disturbed about some information he has been informed of.”

Cassian watched as the light from Mor’s eyes flickered out, and the air of the room was so thick with tension it was almost choking him. He couldn’t watch this. Keir was simmering in the corner, a hand on his wine. His other hand was clenching, his eyes hard.

But the room was taken back as Mor announced, her voice shaking but it held nerve, “I’m guessing such information is about the fact that I’m gay, right?”

It was no surprise to him, Mor had already informed him of her suspicions of her sexuality when he came out himself.  

Keir spat a vicious curse at his daughter that sent the room on the verge of chaos.

But it was Ines who spoke dangerously, “ _You will speak no such things under this roof_ , you hear me, Keir?”

“ _Ines,”_  reprimanded Damien.

“No,” said Ines, “Those are foul, vile words that have no place in this household or in the beliefs of the people in it. Get out.” She turned her head to Keir. “Get out of this damn house.”

Cassian watched as Mor stuck her chin up, the only sign of her emotions was indicated by the slight tremor in her lip.

“Keir is in the right to be upset,” said Damien with such lethal calm that Cassian watched as Ines swallowed. “Finding that his daughter is… degraded from  _school rumours_ , from other parents expressing their  _concerns_ , it must be devastating.” He turned his head to Morrigan. “It’s best for you to go home now.”

Keir stood. Ines remained seated besides Mor, her motherly hands planted on her niece’s shoulders as she stared him down as if daring him to take another step. Keir looked at Ines with such disgust that Cassian was imagining ways to pummel a man. Damien’s nose flared at his wife.

“Dad, what the fuck is wrong with you?” It was Rhys who spoke this time. Cassian watched as his brother’s eyes bore no fear as he glared at his father. “Are you seriously siding with Keir? The brother who you spit on half the time? Cassian came out as bisexual years ago and you never treated him like this. Hell, fuck it, I think  _I’m_  bi. So what? Leave Mor alone. She’s still Mor, she’s still your niece that you’re supposed to love  _unconditionally_.” He turned his head towards Keir, “Take your shit and get out of here, and I will break your damn neck if you look at my mother like that again.”

Damien looked as if he was considering murdering his own son. Never,  _never_ had any one of them spoken to their father like that. Cassian swallowed his fear for Rhys, because no doubt he would be reprimanded later on.

Damien turned his head back to Mor, with one look at Rhys as if to say  _I will deal with you later._

“ _Go home_ , your mother is very upset,” Damien said towards Mor.

Keir made another step to retrieve his daughter but Ines now stood between them, so quick that no one seemed to notice and she spat in Keir’s face with enough venom to burn through skin. “I know exactly what you think of homosexuality, there’s no way I’m letting you _near_  my niece.”

Cassian’s father rose from his seat and everyone else instantly followed, chairs scraping forcefully.

“Ines,  _Rhysand,_ if you do not sit down and shut your mouths within the next ten seconds we are going to have an issue,” said Damien.

“Dad, _stop,”_  cried out Lena, who was now clutching at Rhys’ arm, her eyes blurred with unshed tears.

“I will do no such thing,” said Ines with such conviction that it would put orators to shame. Cassian opened his mouth. Closed it.

“She is  _not_  our damn daughter, Ines.”

“She is while your brother and sister-in-law think the way they do.”

“Control your wife, Damien,” spat Keir.

Closed doors, it had always been behind closed doors when Rhys, Azriel and him would sit on the landing trying to listen in. But now, a wildfire was burning between their parents openly, overtly.

He felt Nesta place a hand at his shoulder, and he almost flinched at how tender it felt despite the tension of the situation. It’s as if she knew what he was going to do.

“Father, I have an announcement to make.”

“Not now, Cassian,” boomed Damien.

“Father-“

“ _Not now.”_

Cassian ploughed on, “I have a four month old daughter.”

***

Nesta realised that behind all perfect families, there were imperfections. Like cracks in the walls behind hastily put up wallpaper.

“Thanks,” said Cassian. “For coming…” he trailed off, his eyes darting past her to the darkness outside as she stood at his porch. He was leaning on the door frame, his body slouched in exhaustion. Her little sister and her boyfriend were standing outside of Nesta’s car, currently embracing one another.

“I’m sorry that didn’t go the way you wanted it,” she said, and she hoped that she came across as sincere as she wanted to be. Because she never wanted that for him. That wasn’t how it should have been. No matter how much of a brute he was. Because he was still an 18 year old boy whose life was torn between fatherhood and the threshold of adulthood.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m glad that it took the attention from Mor. At least my father has a real problem to be pissed about and not at Mor. Never at Mor.”

Nesta nodded. “When are you next going to see Ava?”

“I think she’s coming here. My mum is desperate to see her now, so… My dad probably won’t even want to know me, but I guess mum is just happy that I hadn’t joined a gang or something.” He chuckled half-heartedly, crossing his arms. Nesta refused to look at the corded muscle.

“Well, if you need me, call me,” she said and she watched Cassian’s eyes light up. “Only for things of  _importance_ , got it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “So let me get that straight, phone sex is definitely off the cards right?”

She almost face palmed, “ _Cassian.”_

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He winked. “Or am I?”

Nesta turned with a glare, sauntering to now where Feyre and Rhys were talking in hushed tones, their heads close.

“Thanks again, Nes!” the Brute called from behind and Nesta shook her head. She didn’t look back, until she got to her car and sh _e just couldn’t help herself_  as she turned her head slightly to find him staring after her. He made a heart sign with his hands and she threw him the finger.

 _Damn teenage boys,_  she thought that night as she reached for her bedside table, pulling out the familiar friend.

***

The hallways were bustling as the bell to lunch sounded and Rhys saw her before he did anybody else, his legs moving towards her like muscle memory. She was focused on shoving things in her locker as he draped an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her nose as she turned her head in surprise.

“God I missed you,” he said.

“It’s been an hour,” she said with a light airy laugh, the one that brushed against Rhys’ skin that he resisted the urge of curling against her in the middle of the hallway.

He felt the stares of people in the hallway immediately, and Feyre tensed slightly. He knew she was uncomfortable with attention, and their relationship had gotten a lot of it – even featuring in the damn school newspaper. It was a lot easier for him to brush it off, being used to attention from his position in school, but Feyre on the other hand squirmed when eyes lingered, which they were currently doing now.

“Don’t look at them, don’t think about them,” he said softly in her ear, the arm now draped around her neck pulling her close. He felt the imprint of a smile on his shoulder as she turned her head.

It was the little touches that struck Rhys the most. In his head, before anything had happened, he imagined their relationship to be explosive. Every touch a lightning bolt, every kiss a fantasy. But their touches were comfortable, casual as if they were getting used to mapping one another’s bodies and it made his heart warm just at how her fingers would loosely entwine with his or how she would press soft kisses to his cheek and jaw. She was a constant glow that Rhys grasped to every day, from midnight phone calls to satisfying sex to her simply telling him about her day and everything in between.

Her touch was vital only a few nights before when he was a few steps from throwing a fist at his own father.

Chaos. Chaos was the only word to describe that night. From the moment Keir looked like he was going drag his own daughter from their house to the moment where Cassian revealed that he had a daughter… Rhys’ heart flickered when he found out that he was an Uncle.

But it didn’t last for long. Rhys had seen his father get angry, he had seen him rage about clients and competition. He had been the target of his ridicule and raised voice. But never had he seen his father express his anger physically. The wine glass he had smashed against the table was only the start of it.

 _You are the cause of this,_  Damien had raged at his mother.  _You are inept, letting them get out of hand like this._

His mother had just stood, took every word while she held Morrigan’s hand.

 _An absolute disgrace, bastard child,_ he had called Cassian, after he had told him that he was disowned, no longer a member of the family.

Throughout the whole ordeal Rhys was ready to step in before his fathers hands could wrap around Cassian’s throat, or back hand him. Each one was a possibility as Rhys observed how his father’s hands would clench and unclench. He had pushed Lena and Feyre behind him when his father had took another glass and shattered it against a wall, staining it in red.

And they had watched, utterly unable to comprehend seeing their father act in such a way. Even Keir’s look adopted the same face of shock that each and every one of them held – though, it should not have been surprising. Damien had thrown a fit over Rhys’ choice in taking fucking English literature at Uni, something completely insignificant compared to the life changing matter of Cassian’s child.

And yet, as his father had stormed out of the room, locking himself in his office and had yet to emerge, his mother had instantly gone to Cassian and taken him in her arms where he sobbed into her shoulder.

Where the only thing that broke the utter silence of the room was Cassian’s choked out _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_

Rhys tore himself from his thoughts as Mor elbowed him, the canteen alive despite the deadness of the winters day.

“I didn’t get to thank you last night,” she said quietly, making sure her voice was below that of Azriel’s and Feyre’s art talks and Cassian’s and Amren’s bickering. “For, you know, standing up for me in front of your father.”

Never did Rhys think he would be even able to talk to his father the way he did. He actually swore  _at_ his father. For too long he had felt suffocated in his father’s shadow, it felt good to actually shout at  _him_ for once.

He took Mor’s hand under the table, giving it a slight squeeze, hoping it would convey that he was there for her. Always.

***

“I’m going to find Lucien, get some coffee or something,” said Feyre, making a move to leave Rhys’ side. They were currently waiting for the rest of them outside in the car park, Cassian approaching with Mor in the distance.

Rhys looked at her with a pout. She sighed with a smile. “I will see you later,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his waist where she squeezed, the reciprocating squeeze was just as hard.

“Call me if you need a lift,” he said, placing a finger on her chin to press a soft kiss to her mouth.

Feyre seriously didn’t think that she would ever get enough of his damn mouth and thus the consequent decision to pull him down again for a deeper kiss was a good one.

“Christ you two, get a room,” said Cassian upon their arrival.

Rhys pulled back a smile tugging at his lips, “Eh, we are exhibitionists now, you know that kinky shit-“

Feyre slapped his arm. “You’re an absolute fiend.”

“But you love me.”

“Sometimes.”

Rhys opened his mouth probably to throw a comeback but Mor interrupted, “I’m fucking starving can we leave now?”

“I’m going to hang out with Lucien for a bit,” said Feyre, finally noticing Lucien leave the school, his eyes glued to the floor. She didn’t like the thought of him being alone.

She gave Rhys a kiss on the cheek, slapped Cassian’s arm when he pouted that he wanted a kiss too, and she briefly touched Azriel’s arm in farewell.

Then she gave Mor a hug, whispering that Feyre would talk later with her – mostly about Andromache, and how now everyone in the school knew of their relationship thanks to Andromache’s friends reporting their ‘concerns’. When Andromache had started sitting with them at lunch, her friends seemed to be very bitter about the whole ordeal, and thus must have told their parents of their suspected relationshp. By consequence, Andromache’s own parents were now informed of the situation resulting in Andromache breaking down in front of them confessing everything. It’s how Mor’s own parents found out, being at the end of a row of dominoes, as Andromache’s parents had confronted Mors’ concerning their relationship at a parent board meeting – the meetings that Keir avidly kept up with to keep informed on his daughter’s position in the school.

Andromache had arrived in school that morning, though she had not sat with them. Feyre saw how much it hurt her best friend.

Thankfully, those few nights before, Cassian revealing that he had a daughter distracted all from Mor’s sexuality and thus her situation was being pretty much ignored, but one conversation with Mor, Feyre saw that Mor was overjoyed at being brushed aside. Keir had left after Damien’s rage unwilling to face the wrath of Ines.

When Feyre slid into Lucien’s car without warning he jumped so far out of his seat that he almost banged his head on the roof.

“Shit, Lucien, sorry,” she said, her hand reaching out to steady his shoulder.

He waved her off, “I just wasn’t expecting you. That’s all.”

“I just wanted to see you, maybe we could go get some coffee?”

He looked around with paranoia coating his features and Feyre slumped back in the seat. “I feel like something is wrong,” he said eventually.

“Some things have been wrong for a very long time, Lucien.”

“I know that, but I have a feeling something is  _about_ to go wrong.” He made little move to start the engine as the bustle of after school was starting to die down.

“How so?” she asked.

“I haven’t had any notes in almost 5 days, I only saw Bron coincidentally in town because he was waiting for his dad outside the police station. There has been nothing. And I can’t help but feel like they’re trying to make me relax my guard.”

“Or maybe,” Feyre protested, “They have actually stopped. Have you considered that possibility?”

“Maybe,” he said, unconvinced. 

Feyre slouched back in her seat, “Come on, let’s just go get something to eat.”

***

He felt it.  _He felt it he felt it he felt it._

He felt the sense of unease crawling beneath his skin as Feyre hummed to Alt J on the radio.

He felt the his stomach drop as he drove through town, keeping to main roads.

He felt it as he sipped his coffee, Feyre ranting to him about the atrocity that was American politics.

It was as if every eye was turned on him, branding his skin down to the bone.

It was dark by the time they left the café, winter harsh and brutal against their skin. He grasped at Feyre’s arm, pulling her close as they walked back to his car.

“What’s your battery on?” he asked, noticing how his own phone had just drained of life and he felt like throwing it against the floor because this sickening feeling just wouldn’t go away.

“I’m on 11%, why?” she asked.

He frowned, pulled her harder against him and she swore at him.

“We need to get out of here,” he growled out. He wasn’t paranoid, he told himself, he was completely and utterly justified in feeling unsafe in his own skin.

“ _Lucien,_ I don’t appreciate your damn manhandling, _”_  she spat out as he nearly shoved her in the car.

“Sorry, Fey,” he said seriously, but his head was too clouded with trepidation for the guilt to fully hit him. His heart was pounding, the car park was too empty and he needed to get back to main roads.

As he pulled out the car park, his hands beginning to slicken against the steering wheel, his mind was torn between going the longer route with the greater amount of main roads or the shorter route, which entailed one or two back roads.

He used a stupid children’s rhyme to decide, Feyre’s voice now buzzing in his ears but he wasn’t registering on what she was saying because he chose, turning right.

The route he chose would knock around ten minutes off the journey home and Lucien decided that the faster he could alleviate this sickening pit in his stomach the better.

“Lucien, fucking listen to me!” her voice pierced the wall that kept him detached from his surroundings and he turned his head enough to glance at her and it looked like she was near tears. “You need to calm down. You can’t drive in this state!”

He shifted gears as he turned a corner, accelerating at each darker patch of the road that wasn’t illuminated by a street light.

“I just need to get you home,” he gritted out.

He turned again, into a darker road with very few houses and he shifted up a gear, letting the sound of the engine stay at pace with the adrenaline running through his veins.

The next corner approached and he shifted gears again – only to find his foot find no resistance in the clutch.

“Fuck!” he swore out as his foot started ramming against the clutch but to no avail, it was completely gone and they jolted forward, the car stalling.

The pounding of his heart was almost painful against his chest now as he saw no house for at least another 100 metres and the rolling fields to the right of him were coated in darkness.

“Lucien!” Feyre’s voice again, “Please calm down.  _Please!”_

He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to make the hammer in his chest stop but he was almost shaking from exhaustion, from being in a constant state of tension that consumed his thoughts, his minutes, his hours, his days.

The light from the street lamp a few metres in front set a yellow glow into Feyre’s skin and he turned his head to watch her as she picked out her phone with shaking hands.

“I’m gonna,” she choked out, obviously keeping a reign on her emotions to be the rational one in the situation, “I’m gonna call Rhys, I’m on too low battery to call break down services,” she said to herself more than him.

Within those few moments, of Lucien choking on his own emotions, of watching Feyre press on her phone to then hold it up to her ear, he should have noticed the shadow at his window.

Because nothing prepared him for the shards of glass that splintered against his skin, or the hands that dragged him to the hard concrete of a pavement, the ground rattling his bones until his teeth groaned.

Absolutely nothing prepared him for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I have forgotten to update. This is the penultimate chapter guys, so there's only one more.   
> An epilogue is currently in the works. I am actually going to reply to your awesome comments now that I have still forgotten to do so thank you my loves. The next one will be up sometime this week <3


	20. The End

He was almost blinded from the front lights of his car, as a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pressing his head to the floor – hard enough that Lucien thought his skull might shatter. Agony ripped through his body as a foot pressed into his back, his cheek meeting the gravel, piercing through the flesh on his face.

His ears were ringing from the scream that had just pierced through the air and he almost threw up from the banging in his head as he was yanked into a kneeling position, hands on either one of his arms.

“It’s been very amusing seeing you so unnerved, little Lucien,” the voice belonged to Bron. Lucien’s eyes blurred as he stared at his shoes in front of him.  

Just behind Bron, Lucien caught glimpse of Feyre on the ground also, kicking ferociously at the hands attempting to restrain her.

He realised she was screaming  _fire_  until a hand clamped around her jaw.

_No no no no no_

This was what he had feared, someone other than himwould get involved and hurt and  _he should have pushed her away._

“Christ, didn’t expect you to be with her,” Bron said. “Thought we were just going to have some guy bonding but this will do.” He turned his head back towards him, “Sorry about your clutch by the way.”

“Why,” Lucien managed to grit out.

“Because you’re a really fucking easy target,” he chuckled. “Well, we did have someone higher on our list but ruining the life of Rhysand Spera is exceptionally difficult when he has a very powerful daddy.”

“Not why  _me,_ why at all you piece of shit.” Lucien doubled over from the blinding pain in his stomach, Bron’s fist clenched and unclenched from the force.

“Because what the hell else are we supposed to do now that our careers, our  _livelihoods_ , are done for, right lads?” There were some murmurs of agreement. “You think we should just sit around all day? Why do that when we can impart some of our shitty misery to shitty people like you. I’ve never liked you Lucien, you’ve always been weak – spineless. Hopelessly chasing Tamlin around like a lost puppy. You think I haven’t noticed your distaste of me, any of us? So let’s say we were fucking bored out of our minds when we decided to ruin your life.”

“If I so recall, you’re the ones who ended your own lives when you threw a punch at the fucking Head Boy you pieces of utter dog shit-“ Feyre’s voice was cut off by the hand to her jaw, pressing it into her skull into he saw her visibly wince at the force.

“You have no  _idea_ what it’s like. We had lives, futures, really fucking good ones too. And now how do you think it looks to be expelled. Do you really think any football clubs, Universities would take us now?” Bron’s voice was raising, his anger cutting through the air.

Feyre was in a similar position to Lucien himself, forced onto her knees with hands grasping her arms. Lucien counted six of them. He counted them once and counted them again.  He needed Feyre out of this. The blade in his pocket felt like it was burning into his skin.

“You didn’t deserve it,” rasped Lucien, the lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

“What?” said Bron, cocking his head.

“Rhysand Spera is a privileged fuck who can get whatever the hell he wants. You didn’t deserve to be expelled.” He didn’t dare look at Feyre. He kept his eyes trained upwards, and looked to Bron with a straight face.

Bron smiled slightly, “That’s sweet, Vanserra, probably the only thing we will see eye to eye.”

“Did you know?” Lucien said, lowering his voice as if it were a secret.

“What?” asked Bron.

“You want to ruin Rhysand’s life, you have his girlfriend who he loves dearly, right behind you.” Lucien tasted iron, the evidence of it dribbled down his chin as he coughed.

The light illuminating Bron’s face revealed the shining grin, “I knew you were a sick bastard, Vanserra. And what do you suppose we do with her?”

He saw Feyre squirm from the corner of his eyes, her arms testing the strength of their hands but they held firm. Lucien didn’t want to give any of them ideas. He just need to wait for the right moment.

“I don’t think it’s very fair of me to tell you right in front of her, not very chivalrous,” Lucien said.

Bron knelt down on the balls of his feet in front of him, his face close.  _Good._ “Yeah, I guess it ain’t. Go on then, Vanserra, tell me what you want me to do with Rhysand’s little girlfriend.”

***

Feyre was sick to death of men thinking they could touch her without her fucking consent.

Her knees ached from where they had pushed her into the gravel, her palms stinging. She struggled against the hand at her jaw that was clamping her mouth shut and she vowed to herself that she would bite his damn hand off.

Lucien was whispering now, his voice barely inaudible as he spouted utter shit to Bron. Her eyes darted around, past the blackened empty fields and to the house in the distance and her heart cried out, prayed that they heard her because Rhys hadn’t picked up his phone when they had been dragged like animals out of Lucien’s car.

Bron turned to look at her, giving her a wink and she sent him a death glare enough to give Satan a run for his money.

She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Why people would be driven to such means, to be so lost in loathing to end up inflicting it upon others.

Their voices were still hushed mumbles.  She felt the hands on her arms loosen slightly, as if they too were confused by the whole ordeal.

And then.

A flash of silver.

The grip on her arms, her jaw, loosened.

Feyre bit down, hard. Hard enough that the victim of her teeth let out a sickening cry but it only made her bite down harder until she tasted blood and she ripped herself away, almost gagging at the taste. Her legs were ready to bolt, as she willed them to move quick enough but she barely had time to even breathe as a hand gripped on her hair, jolting her back. A mangled cry escaped her mouth as the hand whipped her head up.

Her hands wrapped around their wrist, a coat barring Feyre’s ability to scratch or dig her nails in to get the bastard to release her hair but a voice sounded in her ear, sharp and threatening, “Try anything like that again you little bitch and your friend’s dead.”

The words didn’t register as Feyre barely was able to catch up with the events in front of her.

“What the fuck, Vanserra?” shouted Bron, his eyes flashing dangerously as he held his cheek. Floods of crimson flowed between his fingers.

Lucien was wheezing on the floor, his hands clutching at the gravel.

She watched in horror as Hart picked up a knife,  _Lucien’s knife_ , the yellow tinge of the street lamp making it glow, Bron’s blood staining the tip.

“Holy shit, little Lucien does have balls after all,” Hart breathed out.

Bron snatched it from him, weighing it in his palm, his eyes blackened in the shadows.

“You’re really going to regret that,” Bron said lowly, the blood from the nick on his cheek trailing down his jaw and onto his collar. Never had Feyre feared more for her life as he traced the handle of the knife like it was priceless artefact.

“Dude…” warned Hart. “You said we were only going to scare him.”

“That was until he swiped a fucking knife at me,” snapped Bron.

“Yeah that was out of fucking order but-“

“Out of fucking order?” Feyre seethed, she was so damn angry, _how dare they be the judges of what was right and wrong_ , “Look at what is happening right now! You’re all fucking insane. You think it was just okay to drag people out of cars, threaten them and beat them up? You’re all fucking-“

The hand yanked so hard on her hair she feared that they had ripped her scalp off. Her eyes watered.

“I think you better shut your trap, you little bitch,” snapped Bron. He approached her, and Feyre couldn’t keep her eyes off of the sharpened blade he held in his hand. Her mind was trying to catch up with the situation, as if some point her body would just jolt awake.

It was becoming difficult to breathe, and the counting in her head wouldn’t make it stop. She pictured Rhys in front of her, his voice soothing and calm and everything Feyre needed. But it did little to stop her choked breaths as the kiss of cold metal was pressed against her cheek.

“Okay, that’s enough, man you’re letting this get out of hand,” said Hart carefully.

“I will say when it’s enough you fuckwit.” The metal traced her jaw, her neck.

“You’re holding a  _knife_  to Feyre Archeron’s fucking throat man, look at what you’re doing!”

Feyre couldn’t see through her blurred eyes, her heart was in her mouth, she registered the cold on her fingers as she grasped at the wrist holding her hair, digging in her finger nails desperately because this was insane, madness, completely and utterly deranged.

“Will Rhysand still love you if I carve out your pretty face?” he whispered so lowly, that Feyre was shaking, trembling with sheer unfiltered fear.

She saw the flicker of red hair lift off the ground. “Please, please, stop.  _Stop_.”

Bron pressed the knife a little harder. A nick on her neck. She felt the contrast of warm blood against her icy skin trickle down her neck.

“Seriously man, what if your dad saw you now?” said another.  _Listen to them. Listen,_  she willed.

“My dad will not know!” shouted Bron, the knife was removed from her neck and Feyre almost choked on how quick she took in oxygen. “I thought we were doing this for us! We worked our asses of all of lives and now our futures, our dreams are crushed because of this bitch’s boyfriend. Why should our lives be ended?” He pointed the knife at Feyre again, “Why not her life?”

Bron was so consumed by this frenzy that now had come over him, that the knife in his hand looked even more dangerous, even more deadly than when it was held to her neck a few moments ago.

Bron turned his head to the trembling Lucien still on the floor, clutching at his stomach. “Why not his life?”

***

Lucien felt like his lung had collapsed, he was wheezing against the air, the cold nipping against his skin as he struggled to remain conscious. It would be easy, to let himself close his eyes and just skip it all. But with his best friend in front of him, it wasn’t an option.

It was a mistake to try and fight back. It was all a fucking mistake and he wished he had listened, wish he had found a way out earlier but-

A foot then collided with his stomach. The black spots shrouding his vision were becoming difficult to ignore.

“I can’t believe you actually had the fucking balls to pull out a knife, Vanserra. I was just going to have a bit of fun, but now you’ve made it really dirty.”

Pressing his forehead to the ground in prayer was useless as a hand yanked his head back, and his body zoned in on the few inches that cold metal brushed his face.

“Bron, fucking stop, you’re acting insane,” the voice didn’t belong to Feyre.

“Jesus, dude. This isn’t cool,” said another.

But Bron ignored them, ignored the protests that were buzzing around him now. He heard Feyre start to scream again, shouting against the other protests.  

Bron leaned in close, his eyes blacker than hell, the blood smearing the left hand side of his face somehow made him look more sinister. “Someone has to pay.” The tip of the blade pressed into Lucien’s skin. “An eye for an eye, right?”

***

When Rhys had answered his phone, with his usual  _hey babe,_  he did not expect to hear what he did.

The smashing of glass, the muffled voices, Feyre’s unmistakeable screams of  _fire_.

He was almost sent into a fit of hysteria as he pressed his phone desperately to his ear, shouting her name as if she would be able to hear him, while his family was bustling around him in a blur.

It had taken 22 minutes. 22 painstaking minutes for Rhys to find them. Feyre’s phone had died at some point so the police couldn’t trace it, so Rhys had to delve through every piece of his knowledge to ascertain her potential whereabouts – and eventually he pinpointed it to the surrounding area of her favourite café.

He kept thinking that if he had remembered that his girlfriend had said she was going to get coffee one minute earlier then he wouldn’t have found her half sobbing, half screaming over an unconscious Lucien.

Sirens were roaring in his ears when he tried to pull Feyre away, blood coating her hands like gloves. Cassian and Azriel had stayed near Lucien as the flashing of red and blue chased away the darkness surrounding them.

She was shaking violently as he gently rubbed at her arms, making sure she had space to breathe, making sure that she was watching him count. 

Rhys focused on Feyre. It wasn’t easy, considering how fast everything was moving around him. But he didn’t know what else to  _do_.

His feelings of utter uselessness persisted all the way to the moment he was pacing the hospital sitting room, waiting for Feyre to be checked up, to be questioned. While Lucien was… he didn’t know, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

The blood.

“Rhysand,” said his mother, her voice sounding like she was submerged ten feet under water. “You need to sit down.”

“But I don’t know…” he choked out, “if Feyre is okay. I need to be ready if she needs me.”  _And Lucien…_ he went to say. _Oh dear God, let him be okay._

Soft, warm, familiar hands cupped his face. His mother stroked the skin of his cheek. Rhys wanted to drown in the touch, he grasped at the comfort.

“My boy-“

The door opened and Nesta Archeron stalked through like a raging bull, grabbing Rhys by the shoulders, her eyes spitting fire.

“Where is she?” Nesta demanded, her voice breaking from what seemed to be desperation.

“I’m here,” said Feyre, closing a door behind her into the waiting room. Her eyes were rimmed red and her face was an image of pain and sorrow. Her coat was hanging off on one of her shoulders, her hair ragged and windswept. Her hands were clean.

Before Rhys could even move, Nesta had already taken Feyre into her arms, squeezing tightly, before standing back and shaking her shoulders harshly.

“Do you know how worried sick I was when I got a phone call saying my little sister has been involved in some fucking gang incident? I thought you would be lying in a damned hospital bed like Father-“

“Nesta, honey,” said Ines, obviously noting that Feyre was not in the right place to be the recipient of Nesta’s expression of love. “I will give you the update.” And with that Nesta realised what she was doing, withdrew her hands, steeled herself and calmly walked to Ines.

Rhys then proceeded to approach, slowly, carefully. Because he didn’t know whether she wanted space or comfort.

“Lucien…he…” she trailed off, her voice hoarse. Rhys stepped closer, taking her hand in his. Her palm was tacky – it made him cling to her even more. “…he doesn’t have anyone,” she continued. “His mum came into check on him but she went back home.”

It looked as if her eyes were supposed to water, from the way she looked distantly at a spot over Rhys’ shoulder. But tears seemed to have run dry.

Rhys could see the guilt in them and she didn’t resist as he brought her towards him, as he wrapped his arms around her, hoping to take all the pain away. She started to cry at some point, her body shaking and trembling while Rhys tried to keep her together. Her barely coherent ability to speak wasn’t even necessary as Rhys knew, he understood. While she was standing here with support, someone to hold her, Lucien was in a hospital bed somewhere, alone – and he still had no idea what had happened to him. He still had no idea what happened at all.

She must have noticed how in the dark he felt, so she told him, while he softly stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort onto her skin.

***

Lucien vividly remembered how cold he was. How his numbed fingers grappled for the knife in his pocket with the intention to harm, to ruin when the hands on his arms loosened just enough. He didn’t know what he expected, he just needed enough time for Feyre to get away, for him to grasp at any semblance of a chance to end it.

He vividly remembered the shouts of distant protest, the roaring as his own knife was pressed against his cheek, the tip pressing to the soft flesh under his eye.

He remembered spitting on Bron’s face, a mixture of blood and saliva.

Then he remembered pain, white, hot searing pain as blood blinded half of his vision and he remembered the screams that didn’t come out of his mouth.

Some sort of reprieve to this madness had been offered at some point because Lucien would never forget how it felt to feel the metal leave his flesh leaving him to dwell in what had been inflicted.

He had pressed his forehead to the floor, letting the gravel press into the skin but it did little to distract as he had watched the blood drip onto the dirt.

Then hands grasped his shoulders and he flinched, unable to bear it. But they were smaller hands, they were familiar hands and he let himself be rolled over as he managed to make out that it was Feyre, her face streaked with tears. And he wanted to brush them away but he couldn’t will himself to move, the cold seeping through his bones and his body throbbing in agony.

The shouts were becoming distant now, the shouts of panic and anger, until black seeped in through the edges of his vision, the pain somehow becoming  _more_  intense as adrenaline dissolved away.

Before he let himself escape, he heard the faint sound of doors slamming, and a car driving off into the dead night.

***

“Hey, how are you?” Feyre said in greeting as she let herself into Lucien’s room, Rhys following behind. At least one of the blinds was open, letting in some daylight. Lucien was wrapped up under his duvet, a laptop on his lap, eating some of the snacks that Ines had most probably sent.

“Good,” he said. Feyre fell onto the bed next to him, noting that he had now paused Stranger Things.

Rhys looked a bit awkward trying to be casual standing in Lucien’s room so she managed to pull him down on the bed with her.

“My two favourite boys,” Feyre laughed as she squished up between them.

“Don’t tell Cassian you said that,” murmured Rhys.

She poked at his arm in response and turned her attention to Lucien. “Have you done anything other than stay in bed all day and watch Netflix?”

Lucien pushed the laptop off his lap and sat up, “Yeah, I went downstairs, made a sandwich, all that stuff.”

“Truly remarkable,” said Rhys.

“Shut up, Spera.”

Feyre rolled her eyes but cut Rhys of before he could retort. “Did you hear?”

“I don’t want to know,” said Lucien and he turned slightly, the light catching on the bandage across his left eye. It made her insides twist every time, though she tried to prepare herself. It was like an overwhelming wave of guilt hit her.

“Well it is good news this time,” she persisted, crossing her legs. “Hart and 3 others confessed, owned up.”

“Cairn?” he asked.

“He was already taken in. I’m glad I had bitten him, basically implicated him there and then.” She still tasted his blood when she thought about it. It was a vile taste.

The past weeks had been painfully long and Feyre didn’t know how she was even standing. 

Thanks to Bron’s father being the Chief, the police made it a difficult investigation, providing false alibi’s for the whereabouts of all the boys involved on the night, or trying to turn the evidence around on Lucien for carrying a knife. But Rhysand’s father had contacts, exceptional lawyers that were now suing the station and Bron’s father for misconduct and were getting the justice that Lucien deserved. The penalties for all the boys apart from Bron would be minor in comparison, a few months maybe a year at least for common assault and damage of personal property. And now they were no longer denying their whereabouts at the time of the incident, there was little resistance in moving the case in the right direction. 

The first trial had taken place earlier on that morning, and Feyre didn’t even need to testify - because Hart and three others had admitted to everything, their guilt had become too much apparently. The death threats, their involvement on the night. The defence lawyers were now fighting for a shorter prison term and instead of fighting the truth. 

Feyre continued, “Bron’s being done for GBH as well as all the other things, death threats etc.”  _Grievous Bodily Harm_. It could have been a lot worse if his friends hadn’t pulled Bron away. She recalled the shouts. How a brawl had almost broken out amongst themselves if it weren’t for the flashing lights in the distance.

“How long?” asked Lucien.

“Couple of years, at least.”

She watched as Lucien put his head in his hands, as he let out a ragged sigh. She placed her hand on his shoulder tentatively.

“I know you may be thinking that isn’t enough for what he put you through, but he will now have a criminal record, Lucien,” said Rhys from behind. “His life will be made difficult, and he will know that every time he applies for a job, gets a loan, gets mentally assessed every five years.”

Feyre felt him exhale shakily under her palm. Rhys had told her of his guilt, how it was his fault they were expelled in the first place. Feyre shut him down every time.

Lucien lifted his head finally, “But at least he hasn’t gone blind in one eye.”

“Partially blind,” Feyre corrected sternly. “You can still live your life in any way you want it.”

“I can barely see shapes, Feyre. I’m basically blind in my left eye, there’s no denying it.”

“And so you’re just going to let that ruin everything?” said Rhys, leaning back on his hands, the bed creaking slightly. “Lucien, this isn’t a dead end for you. You can continue living, as a normal functional being.”

He nodded absently, staring at his hands. Feyre took one of his hands gently, squeezing tightly.

“Don’t let them win Lucien,” she said softly, “they are unworthy winners.”

She felt Rhys almost beam behind her.

Feyre did not miss Lucien wince as he shifted, and she was immediately pushing him back down on the bed.

“How’s your ribs?” she asked, as his head hit the pillow.

“Fine, thanks mum.”

She patted his cheek. “Don’t worry honey,” she laughed as she kissed Lucien’s forehead before falling back on the pillows beside him. Rhys followed suit, falling next to her.

“Great, so you guys are going to be keeping me company now for the rest of the afternoon,” said Lucien as Feyre slid the laptop onto her own lap.

“Yup,” Rhys said, popping the ‘p’.  “I know you love being in my presence, Vanserra.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare, Spera.”

“Shut up both of you. Were you like this when you made out in Junior year?” asked Feyre.

Lucien spluttered, Rhys laughed heartily.

“In fact, yes. Lucien insisted on hating me even then,” Rhys said.

“You’re a lot better at kissing than you are at talking,” muttered Lucien.

Feyre shut them both up with the sound of the Stranger Things theme tune.

***

“Hey, can we talk?” asked Rhys, tentatively. Feyre was asleep, breathing softly, evenly, her face pressed into Rhys’ arm.

Lucien tore his eyes from the laptop screen, turning his head. “If it’s about Junior year, then no.”

“It’s not about Junior year,” Rhys snorted softly. “Why are you so embarrassed about that, I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Lucien looked down to the sleeping Feyre between them. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“She doesn’t care, she already knows,” Rhys said.

“Yes but it seems like she only knows about the kissing.” Lucien’s cheeks tinted pink.

“I doubt she would care about the other stuff neither.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about Junior year,” hissed Lucien.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Rhys smirked. Feyre mumbled something in her sleep, something completely incoherent.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. Maybe one day Rhys would tell Feyre that he gave her best friend a blowjob in Junior year. Maybe.

“Listen, I’m not talking about Junior year,” Rhys said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’m talking about what happened. I know you must feel some hatred towards me. It was my fault they got expelled, and when they should have come after me, they went after you.” Rhys could feel his voice getting louder in anger at himself, as Feyre started to stir. But she remained fast off, nuzzling closer to his arm.

He swallowed, staring at Lucien’s Deadpool poster on the wall instead. “I’m so sorry,” Rhys said.

“Are you seriously trying to blame yourself for the actions of 6 douchebags? They beat you up too,” said Lucien. Rhys turned his head to look at him, and Lucien was simply resting his head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t hate you Rhys. Not for this anyway.”

“Then what do you hate me for?” Rhys asked incredulously.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t hate you. You’re fucking infuriating at times but I can’t hate you. You’re my bestfriends boyfriend and my first male kiss so it would be a bit awkward if I was.”

“I’m still sorry,” said Rhys.

“I don’t need your pity or your guilt, I’ve got enough of that from myself,” Lucien said with absolute clarity.

The weight on Rhys’ chest eased a little. No matter how many times he told Feyre how guilty he was, her reassurance wasn’t enough. But hearing it from Lucien’s own mouth that he didn’t hate him for anything, it was like the air felt easier to breathe.

“You’re really good for her,” Lucien said after a few moments, and it took Rhys off guard a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like she needs someone who can handle that grumpiness.”

“Fuck you, Lucien,” mumbled Feyre into Rhys’ arm.

Rhys laughed as he brushed a piece of hair away from her face. Feyre sat up slowly, blinking against the light of the room. She poked Lucien in the arm.

He poked her back.

“What was this about doing  _other stuff_ in Junior year?” she then asked, looking between them.

Lucien groaned.

***

Ava giggled the delicious baby sound that made ovaries work twice as hard.

Nesta was beginning to grow quite fond of the little girl, who in turn had come quite fond of Nesta herself.

Ines was currently cuddling and cooing at her granddaughter, Ava grabbing curiously at hair and skin. It was quite evident that Ines was spectacular with children, as when Cassian brought in a screaming, snotty child from the car, the moment that Ava was placed in her Grandmother’s arms, she settled.

“Thanks for coming…again,” said Cassian on the sofa beside her, as they watched Ines blow strawberries to his daughters tummy. This was the third time Ava had been brought to her father’s, and Nesta had been there every time. Why? She didn’t know. But working from home with the odd commute made it easy to fit round her schedule, besides, she convinced herself that Ines was who she wanted to see and not the man beside her. No longer did she see him as a boy, especially when he held his daughter so tenderly in his arms.

“Well, your mother has become a good friend,” she said casually.

“Here I was thinking that you were coming to see me.”

On no planet would she ever admit that was the case. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”

He sat back, his eyes glinting in a way that he knew she was lying. She narrowed her own eyes in warning.

In a matter of minutes Feyre and Rhysand arrived, the latter of which immediately rushed to see the baby.

“Hello my beautiful niece,” he said as Ines passed Ava to Rhys. They both sat crossed legged on the floor as Rhys bobbed the baby up and down, watching her eyes light up and her tiny mouth start to smile. Ines looked like she was going to start sobbing.

Feyre sat down in between Nesta and Cassian on the sofa. Nesta realised, that Feyre was ultimately like herself when it came to children. Elain was always the better one with kids, while Feyre and she would choose to watch.

“How’s Lucien?” asked Cassian.

“Coping, I think he is feeling somewhat relieved after we have finally found progress and hopefully justice for the persecution,” she said lowly, her eyes watching intently on how Rhys was pressing kisses to the babies nose and head as she giggled in glee.

“And how are you coping?” Cassian asked Feyre.

Her little sister paused for a moment in thought. “Okay, I guess. Better than I should be.”

Nesta felt the exhaustion in that tone. Feyre had spoken with the police for weeks, some of them who tried to convince her that her story was wrong, how her trauma may have distorted information until Rhys got his father’s lawyers involved. It made Nesta’s blood boil at the way they had treated her sister, and particularly Lucien. She had just started an investigative article on the police cover-ups and misconduct because of it, and she would make those involved pay. She made a vow to herself to see their names ripped apart.

It was late, by the time Nesta decided to go home after Ines insisted Nesta stay for dinner.

“I know you’re probably just going to say I’m a fool but I really do want to thank you, for just being here,” said Cassian lowly as they stood in the hallway, he was bouncing a very sleepy Ava wrapped in a fluffy blanket. It was quite the picture. “You’ve been a really great help, so I got you something.”

Ah fuck. “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

“No, seriously. I wouldn’t have had the courage to even tell my family if it weren’t for you. And I’m so glad I have…” His head turned back in the direction of the lounge. She knew how great they all were, save from Cassian’s father who had yet to even meet his granddaughter – he was now working abroad again and had given his whole family nothing to suggest his forgiveness.  _In due time_ , Cassian had said. He pulled out something from behind him and she almost made a comment about where the hell he was hiding a card and a little rectangle wrapped in shiny gold paper.

Nesta was almost inclined to push it away from his hand, tell him to stop being so ridiculous so she could go home, but as he handed the gift over to her, she took it.

The card was a simple thank you card, the insides writing:

_Nesta,_

_Thank you for everything you’ve done. I hope to return the favour someday._

_Cassian x_

_P.S. Please go on a date with me you ~~stubborn~~  beautiful woman._

Nesta scoffed as she closed the card, and ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a gleaming bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.

She sighed through her nose, looking back up to find Cassian smiling slightly. His hair was tied back, strands all over the place and the way the muscles of his arms bunched when he was holding his sleeping daughter. Fuck, Nesta’s thighs trembled slightly. She hated that this guy had such a sway over her.

“So…will you go on a date with me?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But thanks for the chocolate.”

His eyes glimmered in delight, the way he usually looked when Nesta pied him off. He was quite possibly one of the most determined males she had ever met. Completely and utterly undeterred.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you with more chocolate?”

“Bribery doesn’t work on me, hotshot,” she countered.

“That’s a shame because I have a lot to offer, sweetheart.”

“That’s a no, Cassian,” she said as she moved towards the door, opening it to the icy world beyond.

“I’m going to put you down as a maybe and I will call you later.” He followed her to the threshold.

“You are a hell of a bastard.” She adjusted her coat, ready to step out.

“So that is a yes?”

She dared to look into his eyes, to feel the heat and warmth behind such a gaze and it made her insides tingle, made her swallow down the desire.  

Maybe it was because Nesta was feeling a bit lonely recently, or the fact that it had been a while since she let herself be the centre of a man’s attentions. Or maybe it was because the man in front of her was alarmingly attractive and was starting to grow on her like a fucking fungus which was the reason why she said, “Pick me up at 7 pm, next Friday. I choose where we go. We split the bill. You do not buy me any gifts. Understood?”

The dazzling smile he sent her made her look away quickly. And she reached out to gently brush a hand through Ava’s hair as she slept against her father’s chest.

He was now looking at her in a very strange way that Nesta could not decipher for the life of her. She watched his throat bob. “Next Friday,” Cassian repeated.

She nodded, forcing herself to keep her lips in a straight line because she didn’t know why. Because she didn’t like people getting through her defences so quickly - hell, she was engaged to a man who basically had no idea who she was.

But she realised then, that maybe she wanted someone to know. To truly know her. And she didn’t  _mind_  it being the guy in front of her, especially when he was looking at her like that.

So with one look at his face, she smiled slightly. Only slightly, before turning around and walking into the night.

***

As Feyre said farewell to her sister, she climbed the stairs in search of Mor.

When Feyre approached her room, Azriel slipped out of Mor’s door, closing it behind him.

“Is she-“

“Yeah,” said Azriel, “She’s fine. Just on the phone to Andromache now.”

Feyre smiled a little. Mor had gone through a lot of relationship troubles with Andromache and her parents in the past few weeks and because Feyre had been preoccupied with Lucien and school and University applications and just  _life,_  she had felt like she had neglected her best friend. Though obviously Mor would dispute such thoughts, Feyre couldn’t help but feel the way she did. She was determined to make amends.

“I’m guessing you told Lucien,” he asked quietly referring to the case, he leaned slightly against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, he’s coping. I’ll make sure he does.”

“And you’re definitely okay, right?”

Feyre scrunched her nose, thinking of how Cassian had asked the same thing with the same intent. “Why is everyone suddenly so concerned of my wellbeing, do I look that shitty?”

Azriel snorted. “Because you’re family. We care about you,” he said seriously.

It was so incredibly heart-warming to hear those words no matter how many times she heard them.

“I’m definitely okay,” she said with assurance, to herself and to him.

“Good, because I need you for my freestyle art project for my University application.”

A blush no doubt dusted her cheeks, “I don’t think I fit in your fantasy world Az.” Azriel was compiling a portfolio of the world he had created, with winged warriors and blackened shadows concealing cauldrons and mountains. Wielders of powerful magic and courts of dreams and nightmares. It was quite frankly spectacular, and Feyre wished she had applied to do Art instead of her practical option of Astrophysics. Though, she thought, she would never stop painting.

“You fit in just fine, trust me.”

Feyre pursed her lips. “Can you give me tattoos? And wings?”

“I was actually planning on drawing you with a snout and devil horns-“ Feyre glared at him, and his lips twitched up. “Don’t worry, I will draw you as a badass.”

The slight muffling behind Mor’s door ceased.

“I’m going to see Ava and make sure Mum isn’t crying,” said Azriel, moving off the wall. “See you in a bit.” As he brushed past, he ruffled her hair fondly.

She batted him away with a laugh. “Bye, Az.”

Mor was crying herself when Feyre entered her room.

“Please let them be happy tears,” Feyre said carefully as she stepped over the boots stranded on the floor.

Her best friend sniffled, “Yeah. They’re happy tears.”

“Thank god.”

The bed creaked slightly as Feyre sat, wrapping her arm around Mor’s shoulders and pulling her close.

“She’s talking to me again, at least,” said Mor, her voice muffled by Feyre’s shoulder. “She said that she cut me off because of her parents and she wanted to gain their support but she couldn’t do it. I mean she was doing pretty well, I honestly thought that she had wiped me from memory by the way she ignored me in the hallways. She just called me, telling me that she was sorry and that…” Mor withdrew, dabbing at her eyes. “She wants to try again with no secrets or sneaking around, Feyre. She wants to see me again.”

Feyre smiled brightly, “I’m so happy for you, Mor.”

“My god, me too.”

They lay back on the bed together, talking about anything and everything. The good days, the bad days, and everything that fell in between. They talked about Feyre’s father, about how he was recovering in a mental hospital, that he was actually improving. Feyre managed to get a conversation out of him the last time she visited because Elain had gone with her. They even talked about Mor’s parents.

“Your parents, have they contacted you yet?” asked Feyre, stretching slightly from lying for so long.

“No. But I don’t care. Who needs parents when I have an Ines.” Mor’s face held a smile, but Feyre could see the wounds that her parents had inflicted. “I mean they probably would have shipped me off to some correction centre if they had the chance. But I think there was some part of me that just hoped they would be okay with it.”

“They don’t deserve you as a daughter, Mor.”

“I know.”

***

“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

“Rhys, for the fifth time it’s not my birthday.” Not for another few weeks anyway.

“Just accept my fucking gifts, damn it.”

Feyre raised her brows at her boyfriend who was nudging the little pink box towards her across her bed.

She sighed – a sigh that was more forced than anything because quite frankly Feyre loved it when he got her gifts even if she never admitted it. She sat up, the duvet sliding from her torso and she felt Rhys gaze fall to her bare chest and stay there. She rolled her eyes.

Inside the box was a locket, a wonderfully simple golden locket, inside the locket was a picture of… Rhys.

“There’s just a picture of you in here,” Feyre deadpanned.

“So when I’m not around you can look at me,” he said with an insufferable smirk.

Feyre snorted. “You’re ridiculous and I can’t believe I am in love with you but I am.”

“Neither can I, to be honest,” Rhys said seriously.

He sat up alongside her, pressing a lingering kiss to her mouth as if to make sure that it was real. Then he placed the locket round her neck and she sat still as his thumb grazed the faint scar at her neck where a blade had cut. She watched his eyes darkness slightly. His jaw clench. But it disappeared quickly, the guilt that normally appeared in his eyes. He kissed her again softly.

Nesta was spending the weekend in the city for her next article, and thus it gave the perfect opportunity for a house alone for her to exploit.

Which was why her boyfriend was completely naked. And so was she. Not that she minded.

He pulled her on top of him, skin against skin. His fingers were tracing down her back like he did a thousand times before. She was watching him like he was watching her in this comfortable silence that they had grew so accustomed to.  

“Thank you, Feyre Archeron.”

“What for?” she whispered.

“For being my friend, my best friend, my lover. For being absolutely unapologetic and angry and fearless. For being able to ground me and being my voice of reason. For being utterly bold and brilliant.  I would like to thank every single atom in your body for making what you are but that would take millennia and I don’t have time for that shit. I’d rather spend all that time with you, preferably naked.”

“So poetical,” she sighed dramatically, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I have some poetry for you, it’s not as good as yours of course but I worked hard on it in the last few minutes in my head.”

He smiled, his teeth glinting.

“It’s quite short and very sappy,” she said.

“Give me the sap, I love that shit.”

She laughed nervously, because Rhys was always the better one with words, was always the one who knew what to say in the moment. Feyre was more of an active expresser rather than a vocal one. But she continued, “I was thinking how grateful I am. From the phone calls, the way you call me your stupid nicknames, to the way you simply need to put an arm around me and I have never felt safer. I am grateful for your ridiculous gifts and your awful innuendos. I’m grateful for the way you touch me, like you know exactly how my body and mind work for when I’m sad, or happy or…”

“Horny, turned on, hot and bothered?”

She slapped his chest, “Yes, you prick, I was trying to be poetic.”

He laughed, “I do apologise, darling, please do continue.”

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done now and before this, you’ve helped me in more ways than you could ever know. And finally, I’m so eternally grateful for being so at liberty to do this,” she kissed his cheek, “and this,” she kissed his jaw, “And this,” she whispered onto his lips before she brought their lips together.

The kiss was slow and lazy and transcended into a messy mash of tongues and lip bites that made Feyre slightly dizzy and the air around them turned hazy. He rolled them over, Feyre gasping at how his body weight pressed into her as he kissed her deeply, her eyes flickering in pleasure.

“God, I’m so fucking in love with you,” he mumbled against her skin as his lips trailed down her body, agonisingly slow. “I am completely and utterly infatuated by you,” he said into her neck as he slid back up her body.

She hummed, smiling sleepily at him as he trailed his fingers over her breast and down her stomach and  _down down down_  until they found their way past her underwear. She was still slick from earlier. His fingers were well aware of what they were doing, weeks of spending time learning what they liked the most, teaching each other in the arts of their pleasure. He was an exceptionally quick learner, Feyre thought as he knew exactly what had her writhing and whimpering as he murmured words of encouragement in her ear.

Feyre brought Rhys to completion just as quick, knowing exactly how he liked it by the way he gripped the sheets, or sometimes her hair. The jerk of his hips, or the choked out moans that made Feyre throb as she wrapped her mouth around his cock, using her tongue and the slight graze of her teeth along the side to make him sweat and swear.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured softly into her hair as she buried her face into his neck, his arms wrapped loosely around her.

“Before, during or after just seeing my mouth round your cock?”

He squeezed, pressing his fingers into her ribs slightly where he discovered she was quite ticklish to her dismay. She squirmed.

“You and your filthy mouth,” he chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

She turned her head, their noses brushing softly. She let herself smile, softly, warmly as he smiled back with equal light.

Intimacy had never felt so easy.

“Come on,” she said, before ripping herself from his arms, ignoring his protests as she started to throw on a mixture of her own and his clothes. She almost had to force him to get dressed, as he pouted at her like a petulant child. 

As she left him in her room, she heard the frantic scramble of him getting dressed. 

***

“We could have done this in bed, when we were naked,” said Rhys as he adjusted the screen on his phone, making sure that they could see film properly. His girlfriend adjusted her legs as she sat across his lap, her body curled at his side in the backseat of the Camaro.

“But I like being outside at night,” she replied. 

“Why are you so weird.”

“Says the boy who just gave me a locket with only his face in.”

“Touche.”

She was right, the surrounding rolling fields concealed beneath the darkness made it a different type of peaceful. The nearest city in the distance broke the black, with a mirage of lights. He realised why she liked this. The stars were comforting, the darkness peaceful. He recalled how weeks ago she was sitting in his lap in this very car with her hand down his boxers and how he had been so close to saying those words. He wondered whether what would have happened if it did. Would it have been the same? He tore his eyes from the view to watch Feyre’s own eyes close already.

“You can’t fall asleep, because when you fall asleep, so do I. And I had really bad back ache the last time we fell asleep in this damn car,” he muttered as he pressed his finger to her cheek.

She slapped him away. “Shut up, you’re comfortable.”

“I’m your boyfriend, not your pillow, Feyre Archeron.”

“Debateable,” she huffed and his hand found their way quickly under her layers of clothing to press that one spot in her ribs. Her eyes shot open and she squealed. “You utter  _prick_.”

He shut her up with a kiss, his hand sliding down her side.

“You’re still a bloody prick,” she said against his mouth. 

He hummed, trying not to let the delight shine on his face. 

The film was definitely discarded at that point, because Rhys was lost in her lips yet again. 

This want, this desire, this yearning for her was simply infinite in capacity. 

When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her eyes glazed and her mouth red, he felt the need just to say it, because it felt like time had stopped just to give him the opportunity to do so.

“I really, really love you.”

He watched the glimmer in her eyes, the flush spread across her cheeks. “That’s convenient,” she said. 

He laughed without reserve, his heart beating impossibly fast. The years of waiting, watching, it was all worth it.

Rhys brushed his lips against hers in a gentle caress, one that held promises of a future still yet to live. 

“It is, isn’t it?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Thank you all so so so much for reading. I really appreciate every single one of you. An epilogue will be up sometime in the distant future. A (cough smutty cough) Rhycien prequel has been written and put on my tumblr but I will be uploading it on here too! 
> 
> You are all just fantastic. 
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos, I appreciate them infinitely (even though I am the worst at replying I am so sorry, but you have no idea how happy they make me so thank you!)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @illyrianrhys on tumblr because I will be updating the parts on there first before A03.


End file.
